


Rabbit

by Rowyna



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blood and Violence, Dalish Elves, Dalish Issues, Dom/sub Undertones, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Elves, Eventual Sex, F/M, Forbidden Love, Love Triangles, Original Character(s), Slow Burn, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-27
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-11-05 09:52:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 47
Words: 54,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11011008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rowyna/pseuds/Rowyna
Summary: Ryneth, a young woman, moves to the Hinterlands with her father and brother.  Their new home sits on the doorstep of a vast forest inhabited by a particularly reclusive and territorial clan of Dalish elves.  These elves barely tolerate the presence of a nearby logging camp owned by Ryneth's uncle.  One wrong move by either side could threaten the peace in the sleepy town of Drayton.





	1. Chapter 1

"It's a little on the small side, but it's sturdy." Ryneth watched as her uncle Elrech struggled to open the cabin's front door. Finally, he applied an elbow and it swung inward, raising a thin cloud of dust. She covered her mouth with one hand and looked away.

"It's plenty large enough for the three of us." Sean Brighton stepped past his brother and over the threshold. "I can't thank you enough for everything you've done," he said, surveying the interior. "Finding this place, repairing the roof ahead of our arrival, offering me a job...."

Elrech waved a hand. "You're helping me just as much. I can't keep up with the demand for lumber now that the mages have stopped tearing up the countryside. People are eager to rebuild, but it's not easy keeping workers around here."

Ryneth followed her father inside, her arms folded cautiously in front of her. The cabin was small, much smaller than their home in the Free Marches. The few furnishings - a table, two chairs, and a crooked bed frame - were covered in grime, and spider-webs stretched from the corners of the fireplace up into the rafters. There was a small bedroom off the back, and another narrow space that held only a couple of worn barrels and what looked like the desicated remains of a pumpkin.

"This place needs a good airing out." Ryneth's younger brother Hendry had finished watering the horse, and now joined them inside. He stifled a cough. "Why is it not easy? Keeping workers, I mean?"

A look passed between her uncle and her father, but Ryneth couldn't read it. "Too many foolish young folks go looking for trouble and find it, that's why," Elrech said finally, clapping a gloved hand on Hendry's shoulder. "You're no fool, though, are you lad?"

"No, Uncle." Hendry straightened up, full of sixteen-year-old pride, and Ryneth wondered at how tall he'd grown in the last year. She felt a familiar pang of regret that their mother would never see the man he'd become, and pushed it aside. It wasn't the time to get weepy.

"Good. Then perhaps I've a job for you, too, if your father doesn't object."

Sean frowned. "We'll see. For the time being, I think you'd better just count on one of us."

Hendry looked disappointed, but Elrech nodded. "I understand completely," he said. "Maybe once you've had a chance to see the operation, get accustomed to the lay of the land....well. At any rate, I'll leave you to get settled in now. If there's anything you need, let me know. Otherwise, I'll be back tomorrow to check in on you."

The brothers shook hands, and Elrech turned to go. Then he turned back.

"Don't forget what I told you in my letter, Sean. About the woods to the west. They do not forgive mistakes."

Ryneth and Hendry stared at their father blankly, and Sean cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "We'll be mindful, Elrech. There won't be any problems."

 

When their uncle had gone, Ryneth sighed and sat down slowly on one of the chairs, testing its strength. It seemed sound enough. "I knew there'd be a catch to this place," she said. "So what is it? What's this ominous warning about the western woods?"

Sean rubbed at his temples. "It's not a catch," he said. "We can make a good life here, but there are...circumstances that must be respected. So long as we do, there's nothing to worry over."

Hendry nodded. "And those circumstances are?"

"Come outside, and I'll show you."

The three of them left the cabin, and Ryneth took a deep breath of the fresh air. The sun was beginning to dip behind a towering line of trees not a quarter mile away, and she realized with a sinking feeling that these were the western woods of which her uncle had spoken. So close. It sent a tingle down her spine, even though she didn't yet know what she feared. She only knew that when she tried to peer between the trees she could see only darkness, and when she listened she could hear, carried down a soft slope on the breeze, the faint creaking of ancient limbs.

"There are elves in those woods," Sean said, gesturing broadly. "Dalish. They're extremely territorial, and they don't tolerate humans trespassing for any reason."

Hendry ran his hands through his red hair in disbelief. "Wow. So we're going to be slaughtered in our sleep by feral knife-ears. Good to know."

Ryneth crossed her arms. "They can try."

Sean shook his head. "These elves wouldn't be like any the two of you have seen. The Dalish are to the elves of the alienage as a dragon is to a snake." He paused to let the idea settle before continuing. "But they don't leave their woods, so as long as we stay out we've nothing to fear from them."

Hendry was dubious. "It's that simple, is it? Those trees are so close they can probably see us." He snorted. "I can't believe Uncle Elrech would let his own broth-"

"Elrech and his family have lived in this area, safely, for twenty years. I trust him, and I would ask that you trust me." It was the closest Ryneth had ever heard her father come to yelling. She could hear the tiredness and frustration in his voice, and she remembered how long he had dreamed of returning to their native Ferelden. Suddenly, she wanted only to make things easier for him.

"I'm sure Elrech wouldn't put us in harm's way," she said.

Hendry shot her a betrayed look. "Two against one. I guess it doesn't matter if I think we should get back on the wagon and high-tail it back to the Free Marches, then." He kicked at a loose stone and sighed heavily. "Let's just unpack quickly, okay? I have a sudden strong desire to be inside that musty cabin with the door barred firmly behind me before the sun sets."

When Ryneth had first seen the edge of the great forest on the hill, she wondered whether she'd ever be able to fall asleep in its shadow. That night, however, exhausted by days of travel, all of them slept like the dead. And no shadowy figures emerged from the canopy to disturb them, and the next day dawned clear and warm. Their new life had begun.

 

The next days were busy, and none of them had much time to further contemplate their reclusive neighbors. Together, Ryneth and her family scrubbed their new home from rafters to floorboards. They made simple bedframes from planks and logs that Elrech brought them. They swept the chimney, and they laid rugs, and they even put up a shelf to hold the few mementos they'd brought from Kirkwall. The alcove that had been a makeshift pantry became Ryneth's bedroom, a strip of cloth strung across the doorway for privacy. Hendry and her father would share the room at the back.

It was only during trips to the well that her father's words and her uncle's warning returned to the forefront of her mind. The well was far from the house, though thankfully no closer to the treeline. Still, every time she made the trip she couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched. She felt her gait stiffen in reaction, and she cursed Hendry under her breath. Why did he have to say that about the wild elves being able to see them? As if they'd nothing better to do than watch her draw water, anyway.

She found it a struggle to keep from staring back into the woods herself, though, looking for any sign of color or movement inconsistent with that of a plant swaying in the wind. She saw nothing, and wondered how long it would be before she could walk across the yard without feeling like a fish in a bowl.

 

There was a barn on the property, too, just large enough to house their lone horse and as neglected as the cabin. Elrech and his sons had also repaired this roof, but with considerably less care. Ryneth stared up at the patches of daylight for a moment, then walked over to Molly's stall and offered her an apple. As the brown mare chewed it noisily, Ryneth put her hands on her hips and looked around.

There was a work table in the corner that still had tools on it. A lot of tools, as if the owner had abandoned his entire collection. It seemed odd, given how little had been left behind in the house. And beside the table was a locked chest. Ryneth cocked her head to one side, considered for a moment, and picked up a hammer.

The lock, being rusted and not very sturdy in the first place, fell away on the second blow. She crouched down and lifted the lid slowly, wanting to savor the anticipation. She'd heard stories of people finding chests like this in odd places. Sometimes there was a jewel inside, or a valuable magical potion. Or money.

There were none of those things in this chest. Instead, there was only a small and slender bow, and a silver barrette engraved with the image of an owl in flight. Ryneth took both items and stood up.

"Look at me, Molly," she said, letting fly an imaginary arrow. "I'm an archer!"


	2. Chapter 2

On the fourth day after their arrival, Ryneth found herself alone for the first time. Elrech had come at daybreak to bring Sean to his logging camp, and Hendry left on Molly shortly after. Ostensibly, he was buying supplies, but Ryneth suspected he mostly just wanted to explore the nearest town and meet people. She couldn't fault him for that; the stillness of their new home bordered on desolation. They'd lived in the countryside even in the Free Marches, but there their proximity to Kirkwall meant people were always coming and going on the road, and they'd at least had neighbors. Here, the narrow road ended outside their door, and there wasn't another house in sight.

Ryneth picked up her bow and the handful of arrows she'd begged off Elrech, and went outside. She'd drawn a target on a tree, and though she seldom actually hit it she enjoyed her attempts. Hendry had laughed when he saw her at it, but their father had silenced him. "Let her learn to defend herself," he'd said, "though Maker forbid she ever need to."

So she stood now, a chill morning breeze blowing her skirt and long tawny hair out behind her, and took aim. She loosed an arrow, missed the tree by about a foot, and cursed under her breath. The next two also missed, and the last one hit the tree with so little momentum that it fell to the ground. She sighed, collected them up, and tried again.

After several more attempts and a variety of erratic results, she heard a noise. Someone was walking toward her through the tall grass, just out of eyesight. For a moment, she stood paralyzed with fear. She could suddenly hear her own heart thudding thickly in her ears, and she felt as though a cold stone had dropped into her stomach. Then, with shaking fingers, she slowly brought the arrow in her hand to the bowstring, and nocked it. She raised her bow, drew, and turned all in one movement.

A strange deer starred back at her, not twenty paces away. It was snowy white, and its antlers spiralled around each other like the bare branches of a tree in winter. Ryneth had never seen anything like it, and it startled her. She gasped and fired without thinking.

As luck would have it, this shot did not go astray. The arrow buried itself in the beast's haunches, and it let out a honking shriek of surprise and pain before bounding away toward the treeline. After a moment of stunned silence, Ryneth scooped up another arrow and followed, swearing like a drunk pirate.

She sprinted up the hill and crossed into the forest with barely a pause, intent on chasing down the deer. She hadn't really meant to shoot it, and now it was frightened and in pain. She needed to finish it off, if she could. She told herself it wouldn't take long, and she wouldn't pursue if it fled too far into the woods. No one would know. No one would see.

The woods were lovely. The trees were old, with wide trunks and gnarled roots, and the forest floor was covered in mosses, ferns, and several types of flowers she'd never seen before. It felt still, as though she and the deer were the only moving things within it, and yet she could hear birdsong from the canopy far above. The air smelled of rotting leaves and rain.

She ran on, up another small hill and across a trickle of a stream. She kept glimpsing the animal, but she couldn't get a clear shot at it. Its back leg was stained red now with flowing blood, and she felt nauseas for having injured such a beautiful creature. In the cool shade of the forest it looked almost ethereal, a pale spirit moving between the trees. She pressed on.

Finally, at the top of a slick stone outcrop, Ryneth looked down and saw her chance. The deer had stopped in a small clearing below. It was breathing heavily, its sides heaving with exhaustion. She nocked her only arrow, took a deep breath, and moved quietly to the edge of the rocky ledge. She was about to fire when she felt the thin shale crumble beneath her and she fell, landing hard on another ledge several feet below.

She cried out, her knee badly twisted, and the deer turned to look at her. For a moment, she could only stare back at it as searing pain blinded her. Then, wincing, she raised her bow again.

 

For one confusing moment, she almost thought she'd shot it. An arrow pierced the deer's side just above and behind its front leg, and it stumbled, groaned, and collapsed among the ferns and dry leaves. It didn't move anymore.

Ryneth looked down at the arrow still in her hand, then up again. A movement to her left caught her eye, and she turned in time to see someone approaching fast. Blinking through tears of pain, she made out strange clothing, a slight build, pointed ears.

"Oh no," she murmured. "Oh Maker no, no, no."

She tried to scoot away, her injured knee sending sharp jolts through her body with every movement, but there was nowhere to go. She could make out the elf's face now, dark with fury and covered in markings that mimicked the deer's swirling antlers. Desperate, she fired her arrow at him.

It flew wide, missing him by several inches, but it was enough to stop him briefly in his tracks. He looked shocked.

"Fenedhis!" he breathed. "What are you doing, you stupid shemlen?"

"Leave...leave me alone!" Ryneth shouted back at him, hearing the stammer in her voice and hating it.

The elf frowned and came closer. She raised her bow over her head and shut her eyes tight, anticipating an attack. Instead, he yanked the bow from her grip and snapped it over his knee, throwing the broken pieces off the ledge.

Ryneth stared up at him, torn between relief and indignation. "That was mine," she protested weakly.

"You tried to shoot me in the face with it! After you shot a halla. Which was pure misfortune, because you are a terrible shot."

Ryneth tried to process all this. "What's a halla?"

The elf sighed and closed his dark blue eyes. When he opened them again, his voice was deeper, quieter. "The animal you shot was a halla. My people consider them sacred; we don't hunt them."

Ryneth considered this a moment. She'd killed a sacred animal; that sounded like the type of thing that would carry some sort of dire penalty. Of course, she hadn't been the one to finish it off, but would that matter? Probably not. She tried to remember whether she'd ever heard that the Dalish ate people. She was pretty sure they did, but only children.

"So what will you do now?" she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

The elf gave her a sidelong look. "I'll escort you out of this forest, and warn you not to return. Can you stand?"

"I don't think so. I fell and hurt my knee."

The elf tried to conceal a smirk, and failed. "I know. I saw."

"Well, it's not funny."

"No, of course not." He coughed. "Can I take a look at it?"

She was taken aback. "Why?"

"I have some training in treating minor injuries." He hesitated. "And also some magic."

"You're a mage?"

He knelt down beside her, and she resisted the urge to shift away. She'd never been this close to an elf before; he smelled of pine sap.

"No, not really. Or if I am, I'm a very poor one. Still, I may be able to be of some help." She made no move, and he seemed to sense her uncertainty. "I'm Feyndir, by the way. Of Clan Lutharra."

"Ryneth. Pleased to meet you."

Feyndir smiled in amusement, and the tattoos near his eyes wrinkled. "Are you sure? That wasn't the impression I got."

"I...it's just an expression," Ryneth said, embarrassed.

"I know. Don't worry, I'm not pleased to meet you, either."

Ryneth sighed in exasperation and pulled her skirt up just enough to expose the knee closest to him. It was beginning to swell and turn a nasty purplish color. Feyndir grimaced.

"Well, that doesn't look good," he said. Gingerly, with more care than she would have expected, he reached out and prodded it.

"Ahhh!" Ryneth covered her mouth with one hand.

"Sorry. I don't think there's anything broken or out of place, though. Give me a moment, and we'll see what happens."

He sat back and closed his eyes, clasping his hands together in front of him. A sliver of sunlight broke through the canopy, turning his dark hair auburn and highlighting a complex braid that traced the side of his head and tucked behind one long, narrow ear. At first, Ryneth thought he was praying. Then, slowly, his hands began to glow with a soft orange light. It gradually brightened until she could scarcely make out his individual fingers.

Feyndir opened his eyes then. Wordless, he placed one palm flat against either side of her kneecap, and she felt a soothing warmth flowing into her. It was nice; nice enough that she felt a blush beginning to spread across her face. She looked away, grateful that the magic seemed to require all the elf's attention. After a few minutes, the glow began to fade, and he withdrew his hands and inspected the results.

"Looks somewhat better. How does it feel?"

Ryneth bent her leg cautiously. It still hurt, but the pain was less sharp, closer to an ache. Some of the swelling had subsided, as well.

"Better," she said.

Feyndir stood up, looking tired. "Let's see if you can walk on it." He held out a hand, and Ryneth accepted it. It felt warm with fading magic. He pulled her to her feet, and she managed a few limping steps before he stopped her.

"Not good enough," he said, frowning. "One more go should do it, but I'll need to rest for a bit first. As I said, I'm not much of a mage. Wait here."

With that, he turned and ducked into a low cave that Ryneth hadn't noticed. He emerged a moment later carrying a worn bearskin and a blanket. Ryneth stared at them, perplexed.

"We elves stash stuff all over the woods," he said. She couldn't tell whether he was joking or not. He shook out the skin and motioned for her to sit on it.

"You may as well be comfortable - I'll try again with your knee as soon as I'm able." He threw the blanket down still folded and sat on it, leaning his back against the rock face and shutting his eyes. He looked almost pained. Ryneth suspected that drawing the healing magic took even more effort than he was letting on.

They sat in silence for a while.

"You said I'm a terrible shot," Ryneth said finally.

"Mmh. You are." Feyndir didn't open his eyes.

"Were you watching me before I shot the halla, when I was practicing?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm a scout; that's my job. I watch things."

"You watch to see if humans come into the woods."

"Among other things. But mostly that, yes."

Ryneth considered this, chewing her lip. "Will you tell the other elves I was here?" she said at last.

Feyndir was silent for a moment. "Yes," he said. "I'll have to tell the Keeper."

"And will you tell the Keeper about the halla?"

He was quiet for longer this time. Finally he sighed. "No, da'len. I'll bury the halla, and no one will find out what happened. You didn't know."

Ryneth lay back on the bearskin, relieved. "Thank you," she said, staring up into the canopy. Far above, wide branches swayed slowly in the breeze. The effect was hypnotic, and she felt herself drifting toward sleep. She fought to keep her eyes open.

"What does that word mean, anyway?" she asked absently.

"Which one?"

"Daylin."

Feyndir smiled slightly. "Elvish doesn't always translate well. Don't worry about it."

Ryneth raised herself up on one elbow, her eyes narrow. "Were you calling me a name?"

"No! Well...no. I didn't mean it like that, anyway." Feyndir shifted and opened his eyes. "Da'len means 'child', if you really must know."

Ryneth was indignant. "I'm 20. I'm not a child."

"Really? I would have thought younger." She scowled, and he held up a hand defensively. "But I wasn't referring to your age, anyway. You just seem...innocent. A little naive, perhaps. I'm sorry if I offended you."

"Well, It's true I've never met a Dalish before," Ryneth admitted.

"I suspected as much. Where are you from, originally?"

"The Free Marches. My father is from Ferelden, though. He always talked about returning one day."

"Your father is the older man, then? With the white beard?"

Ryneth felt a pang of mistrust. It was one thing to know Feyndir had observed her target practice, but somehow it hadn't occurred to her that he'd been watching the rest of her family, as well. She hesitated to answer, and he noticed.

"Never mind," he said, looking away. "You're right to be wary. Forget I asked."

They sat in uncomfortable silence then, Ryneth picking dully at the bearskin and Feyndir staring off into the distance. A cloud rolled across the sun, and the air turned cooler.

 

After a time, Feyndir stood up and stretched. "Alright, one more try to get you walking." He knelt beside her as before, but there was an air of detachment about him this time. He repeated the earlier process, and Ryneth again felt the healing warmth of his hands passing into her. When he was finished, he stood up without looking at her.  
"Try and walk."

Ryneth felt oddly hurt by this sudden coldness, but she did as he asked. She still limped slightly, but there was almost no pain. Only weakness, as if she hadn't used the knee in a long time.

Feyndir nodded. "Good enough," he said, gathering up the blankets. "You can go home now."

He led the way, guiding her on a snaking path over massive, twisted roots and around boulders. She watched his feet as they walked, the way his bare toes curled around fallen logs and allowed him to move through the uneven landscape with a surprising degree of grace. It had always seemed pointless and unsanitary to her that the elves of Kirkwall went about in this fashion, without proper shoes on their feet. Here, though, she could begin to see the advantage of it.

She'd come further into the forest than she'd thought, and after a bit of hiking her knee began to throb in earnest again.

"I need to rest," she said, sitting down on a moss-covered rock.

Feyndir stopped and looked back at her. "We're almost there," he said, uncertain.

"Just for a moment. Please."

He frowned. "Very well."

"Feyndir, I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to - "

He shook his head. "Don't. I'm not upset at you. Truly. You just reminded me that we aren't friends, that's all. That we can't be friends."

She understood what he was saying, but felt as if he'd struck her at the same time. "I...I don't know what to say."

"It's alright. The world is what it is, and we both must live in it." He smiled slightly. "Look on the bright side - we met and neither of us killed the other, despite your best efforts. That's something."

Ryneth ignored his attempt at levity. "I thought you were going to kill me."

"I know." He studied the ground for a moment. "Are you ready to move on now?"

"Okay."

Ahead, a thin footpath emerged from the undergrowth. When they reached it, Feyndir stood aside and motioned for Ryneth to take the lead. He looked sad, almost regretful as she passed.

"The edge of the forest is just ahead," he said, his voice close to her ear. "Don't stop walking until you reach it." He paused. "When you reach it, do not return. If you return, I will have to kill you."


	3. Chapter 3

Ryneth didn't stop walking until she reached the cabin, despite the ache in her knee. She suspected Feyndir had turned back shortly after his parting words, but she'd been too upset to look over her shoulder. Now she closed the door behind her and leaned against it, physically exhausted and emotionally drained by the day's events. Hendry looked up from the table where he was peeling potatoes.

"Where have you been?"

"Um, I went for a walk." She crossed the room, careful to hide her limp, and sat down across from him.

"You have a leaf in your hair."

Ryneth felt her head gingerly until she found it. She pulled it out and tossed it into the fire.  "How was Drayton?"

 

"It's a miserable little backwater." Hendry put down his knife. "Did you know Uncle Elrech is the richest man in town? We're celebrities already by association."

"Really?" She traced a groove on the table with one finger. "Hendry, do you think Father is safe working in the forest? With all the Dalish around, I mean."

"Elrech says so. The logging camp is a few miles south of here, outside what those knife-ears consider their territory." He snorted. "Not that they've any legitimate claim to any of it."

"I suppose not."

Not long after, the door opened and Sean walked in. He gave his children a tired smile, and Ryneth thanked the Maker she hadn't arrived home any later.

"Speak of an archdemon," said Hendry.

"How was your first day?" Ryneth asked.

"My brother employees a lot of refugees," Sean said. He sat down on a bench and began to pull off his boots. "I met several folks from the Hinterlands, and even a couple who survived Haven. The things they saw...." He shook his head. "I don't know how they sleep at night. How about you two? Any adventures to share?"

"Drayton turned out to be the opposite of an adventure," said Hendry. "And dear sister did nothing but walk about all day. She didn't even start dinner."

 

After that, the days passed more slowly. Without her bow, Ryneth found it difficult to fill the empty hours. Finally she rode Molly into Drayton herself, and returned with fabric for curtains. She doubted Feyndir could see in their windows even from his vantage point on the hill, but it pleased her somehow to imagine she was thwarting him. Her father was delighted to see her engaged in such a domestic activity, and wondered aloud whether she'd met any nice young men in town.

Hendry, for his part, spent his days making improvements to the barn's roof. By the time he was finished, Sean was ready to let him join him at work, and the following dawn Ryneth watched the pair of them ride off on Elrech's wagon. A few days later, she found the note.

It was inside the bucket kept beside the well, written on a scrap of paper folded up so small that she almost missed it entirely. There were only three words - _practice makes perfect._ She understood the reference immediately, as well as who'd left the message, but still couldn't quite believe it. Sheepishly, she looked toward the woods, but saw no sign of Feyndir. She walked out to the tree she'd painted with concentric circles. Behind it, propped against its wide trunk and concealed in the tall grass, stood the most beautiful bow she'd even seen.

It was slightly larger than the one she'd found in the chest, and made from a type of dark wood she didn't recognize. An intricately engraved pattern of interlacing leaves and branches decorated its back, the grip was wrapped in soft, pale nugskin, and the face had been polished until it gleamed. Wound around it and tied with a thin strip of leather was another note. She untied it and smoothed it out.

_Have you ever noticed you're the only one in your family who fetches water? Anyhow, I've been thinking. It was wrong of me to break your bow, and I'm sorry. Please accept this replacement - I carved it from ironbark, so it's nearly indestructible._  
_-F_

Ryneth picked up the bow and found it lighter than she'd expected. Light but sturdy; it was a graceful weapon, the type even an expert marksman would be grateful to own. She ran her thumb over the engravings, wondering how long it had taken Feyndir to make it. It had only been two weeks since they met - he must have been working on it most, if not all that time. It was a touching thought, but she quickly turned it aside. He felt he'd wronged her, and this was his way of making amends. Nothing more.

Still, she was glad to have a bow again. She ran to the barn, collected her few remaining arrows, and returned to the yard. The next hour she spent practicing, only occasionally allowing herself a subtle glance toward the treeline. As usual she saw no sign of anyone there, though Feyndir's green tunic would have made him difficult to spot, anyway. She supposed that was the point of it.

When she was finished, Ryneth wrapped the bow in an old blanket and put it in the chest in the barn. She would never be able to let Hendry or her father see it; the design was too obviously elven. She wondered whether Feyndir had considered that fact when he designed it, and whether it would have made a difference if he did. Would he have attempted to make the weapon less conspicuous? Or did he consider human bows inferior?

Ryneth sighed. She was thinking too much about this Dalish, this elf who had healed her, then threatened her life, and then left her a gift. It was maddening. She needed a distraction.

 

She got one that evening.

"Elrech has invited us to dinner," Hendry announced as soon as he came through the door.

Sean followed him, smiling. "About time, too. You'll finally get to meet your cousins."

"I'm more interested seeing the inside of Uncle's house. We pass it on the way to the camp, Ryneth, and it's absolutely massive." Hendry sat down at the table, and Ryneth placed a bowl of stew in front of him.

"And when is this happening?" she asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Tomorrow," Sean said. He took a seat beside Hendry and grabbed a loaf of bread. He ripped a chunk out of it, and wagged the rest at Ryneth. "You'll want to wear your best dress, dear. Elrech mentioned he'd have a few other guests; we might find you a husband yet."

Ryneth turned back to the fire and filled another bowl. "I'm in no rush to marry," she repeated for the hundredth time.

"You should be." Hendry was talking with his mouth full. "You'll be an old maid soon, sister. Don't you want to settle down and have babies?"

"With any country bumpkin who comes along? No, thank you." Ryneth set the bowl down in front of her father a little harder than she intended. A small piece of potato bounced out.

"Of course not, Ryneth," Sean said. "But it doesn't hurt to keep an open mind, does it? And to look your best, just in case?"

Ryneth groaned. "No, Father," she conceded.

Hendry laughed aloud at this, and Sean smacked him upside the head with his spoon. "As for you, lad, you leave your sister alone."


	4. Chapter 4

The following day, Ryneth had to leave her new bow in its chest. Sean and Hendry had the day off, and everyone was busy having baths and getting ready for their evening out. In her room, Ryneth lifted her formal dress - gown would be too strong a word for it - out of its box and gave it a shake and a sniff. The dried flowers stored with it had done their job; it only wanted a little ironing. She held the pale blue fabric up to her chest and looked into the small oval mirror on the wall. Mother had always said the dress brought out her eyes, and she was right. Ryneth wondered what her mother would think of their new life in Ferelden, of their new house and their Uncle Elrech. Of Feyndir.

 

Elrech sent a carriage for them in the late afternoon. It was glossy and black, and the interior was lined with velvet. Ryneth was impressed with it despite herself, and even more impressed when they arrived at their destination. Hendry hadn't been exaggerating about the size of Elrech's dwelling; it was more mansion than house, and definitely finer than any dwelling in Drayton. Though only two stories high, it sprawled. Wide columns flanked the entrance, and a large statue of Andraste with her arms outstretched stood in the middle of the circular drive, surrounded by flowers. Elrech himself waited at the top of the stairs to greet them. At his side was a young man with black hair and a pale complexion, his hands clasped behind his back and a bored look on his face.

"Welcome, brother," Elrech said as they approached. "Hendry, good to see you. Ryneth, may I introduce you to your cousin Phinneas. Your father and brother know him already from the camp."

The young man nodded slightly in her direction. "Step-cousin, really," he said. "My mother married your uncle after my father died in the Blight."

Ryneth immediately suspected that setting her up with this Phinneas had been the plan all along. Had it been her father's idea, she wondered, or Elrech's? Did Hendry know about it? She gave her sibling a sidelong glance, which he seemed not to notice.

"Pleased to meet you, Phinneas," she said with a small curtsy. "I'm sorry about your father."

"Thank you," he said, "but it was some years ago. I hear you lost your mother more recently?" He offered his arm, and they made their way inside. The others trailed behind, talking shop.

"Last year, yes. She was ill." She disliked talking about it, and hoped he wouldn't press for details.

"I'm sorry. It's difficult losing a parent." He paused. "Your father seems a good man, though, and he speaks quite highly of you."

"Mmm, I'm sure he does."

Phinneas laughed. "He wants a good life for you. Don't hold it against him."

"I'll think about it."

 

He led her into a parlour decorated in shades of rose and gold. A woman was crouched beside a small boy there, dabbing at his face with a cloth.  "You're a mess," she told him. "Didn't I tell you to keep away from the tarts?"

"Ryneth, this my mother, Chantal, and my little brother, Kendrick," said Phinneas. "Mother, Cousin Ryneth."

The woman stood, and Kendrick took the opportunity to run out of the room. She shook her head, her carefully-coifed dark hair barely moving. "I'm glad to finally meet you, Ryneth," she said with a slight Orlesian accent. "I apologize for my younger son; it is not easy to instill social graces in a child raised in the wilderness."

"Mother wants to send Kendrick and my sister Saraline to school in Orlais," Phinneas explained, "but Elrech would prefer they remain here, and so they do. At least for the time being."

"Are you from Orlais?" Ryneth asked Chantal.

"Originally. I came to Ferelden when I was first married, but I still miss it sometimes." She smoothed her skirt absently with one hand, its lavender brocade shining in the candlelight. "You were raised near Kirkwall, yes? That must have been...eventful."

"At times. Fortunately, our farm was far enough outside town that we avoided most of the excitement."

"Ah. That is fortunate, indeed." Chantal frowned at something she saw through the doorway behind Ryneth. "Please excuse me...." She swept away, trailing a faint scent of roses.

 

A moment later, an elven girl with wide brown eyes appeared in the doorway. She was wearing a simple cotton dress and an apron. "Excuse me, sir, miss. They're headed into the dining room now."

Phinneas waved a hand at her, and she withdrew.

"You have an elven servant," Ryneth said, surprised.

"Two of them, unfortunately. Mother prefers them, thinks they work more quickly and quietly than other races. I suspect it's an Orlesian thing. Do they bother you?"

"No, it's just that I didn't see an alienage in Drayton. I assumed there weren't any city elves around here."

Phinneas laughed. "Drayton isn't large enough to have an alienage. No, the elves in these parts just live outside the town. That is, those few who haven't run off to join their wild relations painting their faces and dancing in the moonlight." He offered her his arm again. "Shall we go in to dinner?"

 

It was the best meal Ryneth had had in a long while. Elrech's other guests were mainly foremen from his logging operation, but the mayor of Drayton was also in attendance, as was the local Chantry leader, Mother Elise. As the others discussed the growing power of the Inquisition and the current price of lumber in Denerim, the elves served Orlesian wine and brought out platters full of various fruits, cheeses, and crusty loaves of bread. And then there was soup. And a salad that featured edible flowers. By the time the main courses were served, Ryneth wasn't sure she'd be able to manage any of them.

It was just as well. The first serving dish brought out contained a roast of wild boar, and the next was potatoes served in a mushroom sauce. The third dish she didn't immediately recognize.

"What type of meat is that?" she asked Phinneas, who unsurprisingly had been seated right beside her.

"That's a local speciality," he said. "A type of white deer."

Ryneth suddenly felt sick. "You mean a halla?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Phinneas seemed impressed. "Yes, that's it. The Dalish have some heathen superstition about them, I believe. They won't harm them, and so the woods are full of them."

Thoughts of the halla she'd shot ran through Ryneth's mind. She could hear its surprised cry, see it standing in the clearing with bright red blood staining its snowy hide. She remembered the look of fury on Feyndir's face, but also how he'd offered to bury the animal to hide her transgression. Bury it, not eat it.

"Are you all right?" Phinneas looked concerned now, and Ryneth noticed that a few other heads were beginning to turn in her direction, as well.

"I...I need some air," she said. She stood up, dropping the napkin in her lap onto the floor, and walked out of the room. Phinneas followed after, and guided her through a pair of glass doors that led onto a patio. She breathed deeply of the night air. It smelled of lilacs.

"I must admit, I've never seen quite that reaction to a bit of venison before," he said after a minute.

"It just seems wrong," Ryneth said, at a loss to explain without telling him the whole story. "If halla are sacred to the Dalish, then maybe we should respect that. Maybe it isn't right to eat them."

Phinneas narrowed his eyes. "And why the hell should we care what the Dalish think? Do you know what they do if we cut down the wrong tree, or if one of our workers wanders into the wrong part of the forest?" He shook his head. "Think of what they did to the last family who lived in your cabin!"

Ryneth felt her mouth go dry. "What did they do?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Phinneas seemed taken aback. "You really don't know? Your father didn't tell you.... Well, then, perhaps it's not my place - "

"Tell me."

He looked at the ground. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. I thought you already knew."

She crossed her arms. "Well, I don't. So tell me."

He sighed. "If you insist. The house stood empty for a couple of years before you came. But before that, a man named Tanen lived there with his pregnant wife and their child. He worked with us at the camp, and one day he didn't show up. We all thought maybe his wife was having the baby, but he didn't come in the next day, either. Or the one after that. Finally, Elrech sent someone to check on him." He coughed. "Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Ryneth felt as if her chest had turned to ice. She wasn't at all sure she wanted to hear it, but she needed to know. She nodded numbly.

"Elrech's man went to the house first. The front door was open, but no one was inside. Then he walked around the yard, calling Tanen's name, but got no answer. Finally, as he was about to leave, he happened to glance toward the forest." Phinneas looked at her apologetically. "There was poor Tanen, hung from an oak tree at the edge of the woods. The Dalish had opened him up from neck to groin, and his innards were trailing on the ground in front of him. They'd put an arrow through his right eye, too; just for good measure, I guess."

Ryneth didn't know what to say, or even what to think. "What about his family?" she managed finally. "Were they ever found?"

Phinneas shook his head. "No, but most people think the elves took them. If so, I'm sure they're long dead by now, too. The Dalish may not eat halla, but they've no such scruples about shemlen children. As for Tanen's wife...well, death probably seemed a mercy in the end."

"That's...horrible." It was worse than horrible, really. It was unimaginable. She literally couldn't imagine Feyndir doing any of the things Phinneas had said. And yet it had happened. Perhaps it was some other elf, some other clan even. _If you return, I will have to kill you._ She felt her eyes welling up with tears, and wiped at them angrily. Phinneas, thinking she was weeping for Tanen and his family, offered her a handkerchief and placed an awkward hand on her shoulder.


	5. Chapter 5

After that evening, Ryneth spent most of her time indoors. She sewed, she cleaned, and she prepared elaborate and inventive dishes that her father and brother pretended to enjoy. Twice, she went to the barn and opened the chest. The first time she only looked at the bow, but the second time she picked it up and ran her fingers over the engravings. Touching it made her feel angry and confused, not just at Feyndir, but also at herself for feeling conflicted. If he'd done the things Phinneas said, then he was a monster. She put the weapon back in the chest and closed the lid.

 

"What is wrong with you?" Hendry said. He was seated at the table, attempting to read a copy of the Chant that Mother Elise had lent him. "Ever since that night at Elrech's, you've been...odd. Have you fallen head over heels for Phinneas? Is that what this is? You certainly were in a hurry to get him alone."

Ryneth looked up from the stocking she was mending and scowled. "I didn't feel well."

"Yes, yes, so you've said." He was quiet for a time. Then, "Our cousin didn't try to, um...take advantage of you, did he?"

She turned slowly to stare at her little brother, who had gone as red as a ripe apple. "Maker's breath no, Hendry. He was a perfect gentleman."

"Well, that's a relief," he said. "But something is bothering you. Father thinks so, too. You're afraid to be still, you're always looking for a chore that needs doing, but you never go outside or ride Molly or -"

Ryneth threw down her sewing. "Enough! I'm going outside right now to get away from your nagging. Happy?"

"Yes," said Hendry.

 

Outside, Ryneth paced back and forth, her arms folded across her chest. She wondered if she should tell Hendry what she'd learned from Phinneas. What good would come of that, though? Or maybe she should confront their father, but she already knew what he'd say. He'd wanted to protect them, to make them feel as safe in their new home as he believed they were. She'd always looked up to him, thought him wise, but now she wasn't so sure. It was a terrible feeling.

Frustrated, she kicked at the empty water bucket and sent it bouncing across the yard. A tiny scrap of paper, freed from beneath it, caught the breeze and headed off in another direction.

Ryneth stared at it in surprise. "Well, shit."

She hurried after the note, but every time she bent to grab it the wind blew it out of her reach. She tried leaping at it, but it still escaped her. She jumped at it again, and again, and finally trapped it under one foot. Relieved, she picked it up and unfolded it.

_Have you given up archery? Perhaps you just need better arrows. -F_

Ryneth smiled, and instantly felt guilty. She shouldn't even look, she should open her hand and let the message fly away. She should forget about it.

But she didn't. Instead, she walked over to the tree where she'd found the bow, her heart beating fast in her ears. Behind it, as before, Feyndir had left something for her. This time it was a quiver full of arrows. She plucked one out and examined it. Unsurprisingly, it was both expertly fashioned and lovely to behold, with jet-black feathers and a silverite tip. A small work of art, made just for her.

The quiver itself was equally impressive. The smooth leather was studded around the top and bottom, and branded with the image of a stylized elf drawing a bow. Encircling the elf was a wreath of leaves and vines that mirrored those on her bow, creating a matching set. Leaving nothing out, Feyndir had also crafted for her a soft but sturdy harness.

This time, Ryneth couldn't pretend the elf was merely trying to right a wrong. He no longer had any reason to feel obligated to her, if indeed he ever had. These were gifts of affinity, signs of friendship even where he'd claimed there could be none. And if they were friends, then his earlier warning had to be toothless. It had to be. Surely even a Dalish wouldn't kill a friend just for walking in the woods.

Ryneth cast a long look toward the forest. She needed answers about Tanen and his family. She needed to hear Feyndir say he wasn't involved, and that nothing like that could ever happen to her and her father and Hendry. She needed to know they truly were safe, and she was willing to take a risk to make certain.

Feeling determined, she picked up Feyndir's gifts and headed for the barn. If the bow whispered of its elven origins, the quiver screamed them, so she needed to stash everything safely away in the chest for now. Tomorrow, after her father and Hendry left for work, she would go looking for Feyndir.


	6. Chapter 6

Ryneth stood still in the tall grass, dew dampening the bottom of her skirt. Her new quiver was on her back and her bow was in her hand, though she wasn't entirely sure why she was bringing them. She wanted Feyndir to see them, perhaps, just in case he needed reminding that she wasn't his enemy. She wanted him to know she had no ill intent, even as she broke his clan's rules and ignored his threats.

She stood staring up the gentle rise for several minutes, gathering her courage and scanning the treeline. She half hoped that if she stood there long enough Feyndir would come out to her, but as usual there was no sign of anyone beyond the dark edge of the forest. Eventually, a chill morning wind made her shiver and move forward.

Stepping out of the grass and into ferns, out of the morning sun and into shadow, she took a deep, steadying breath. There was a buzzing in her ears, and she felt her skin prickle. The woods were cool and still, but it felt as if a hundred eyes were upon her. Briefly, she considered quietly backing out.

She walked on for several minutes, jumping every time a twig snapped or a bird called, until she finally began to think she'd slipped past the elf entirely. She sat down on a fallen tree, wondering what to do next.

"You put me in a difficult position, little rabbit." She felt something sharp pressed against her back, behind her heart.

"Feyndir," she breathed. "I need to talk to you."

"I warned you. I told you not to return. My people would have me end your life for this."

For some reason, his words made her more angry than frightened. "And what would your people think about you making me gifts, and leaving the forest to bring them to me? Or will you pretend to them that you didn't encourage this?"

He was silent for a moment, and then she felt him withdraw the dagger.

"And this is how you repay my kindnesses?" he answered, stepping away. "By defying me and putting yourself in danger?"

Ryneth stood and turned to face him. His shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a short ponytail today, which made his face look even more angular than she remembered. The line of his high cheekbones continued in the backward slant of his ears, giving his face a pointed appearance. The flattened bridge of his nose wrinkled as he frowned at her disapprovingly.

"I knew...I believed you wouldn't harm me," she said.

He sheathed the dagger and shook his head. "My clan has many scouts. You might well have met another in these woods, someone who wouldn't hesitate to put an arrow through an incorrigible shem."

"I didn't think of that," she said, feeling foolish. "I just assumed it would be you."

Feyndir sighed. "Well, here I am. What did you need to say to me, rabbit?"

It was the second time he'd said it. "Are you...are you calling me rabbit?" she asked, embarrassed. Her father had taught her never to use that word, at least not within earshot of an elf.

"Oh, that." Feyndir said, suddenly looking sheepish. "I saw you yesterday, trying to catch my note. You looked like a little rabbit the way you hopped after it." A flush crept into his cheeks, and he coughed. "I don't mean to...I mean, if it bothers you, I'll stop."

Ryneth had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. Having spent his life amongst his own people in the wilds, Feyndir was clearly unfamiliar with the slur. She decided she wasn't going to be the one to tell him.

"No, it's perfect," she said. "I think you absolutely should call me rabbit."

Feyndir frowned again, as if sensing he was missing something. "Very well," he said, dubious.  "But that can't be what you wanted to speak about."

"No." Ryneth felt the smile on her face fade away. "I came here to ask you about Tanen."  He looked at her blankly for a moment, and she dared to hope he knew nothing of the man.  "He lived in my family's cabin before us.  He died...well, he was killed...."

Recognition flashed in Feyndir's eyes. "He was hung and disembowelled," he said, crossing his arms. "After I shot him through the eye."  Ryneth stared at him, horrified, but he returned her gaze evenly.  "What else do you want to know?"

 

"How could you?" She could barely keep her voice from shaking. "He had a family. What happened to them?"

Feyndir scowled. "Did the heathen elves eat his children and rape his wife, you mean?" He took a step forward, looking slightly down at her. "Is that what you think?"

She looked up at him, into those dark blue eyes slightly too large to be human. She saw disappointment there, and hurt, but no guilt.

"You didn't do anything to them," she whispered.

He nodded. "Come with me, there's something I want to show you."

 

They made their way deeper into the forest, gradually turning toward the north. After a time the trees thinned, and purple and white wildflowers bloomed in the sun-dappled spaces between them. "Your knee has finished healing?" he asked as they walked.

"Completely. You're a better healer than you credit yourself, Feyndir."

He smiled slightly. "Two tries, and you were still limping when I left you. I won't be hanging up my bow anytime soon."

"Did you really kill Tanen just for trespassing?" She couldn't help herself.

He sighed. "It was my duty; it's how my clan defends its camp. Is that not a good enough answer?"

Ryneth stepped carefully around a wild rose bush, the thorns brushing her skirt. "I just can't imagine it, that's all."

Feyndir stopped walking and turned to look at her. "Back there, you wanted to know whether I eat human babies. Now you can't imagine me shooting a man who knew perfectly well he was where he didn't belong. Make up your mind."

"I never said you eat babies; that was you."

"And whoever told you the story didn't mention that part?" She said nothing, and he nodded. "That's what I thought." He sighed heavily. "The truth is, I don't know what became of the man's family. Most likely they fled. Whatever happened to them, my clan had no part in it. As for Tanen himself...he left me little choice."

Feyndir began walking again, and Ryneth followed. "I was a hunter back then, but the Keeper asked me to fill in for a scout who'd gone missing on patrol. This Tanen was the very first shem- er, human I encountered in my new position."

"And you panicked and shot him?"

He chuckled. "No. I'm not you, rabbit. Partly, I shot him because he was in the forest and didn't belong there, as I've told you. Mostly, though, it was because he called me a filthy knife-ear and ran at me with a sword."

"What? Why would he do that?"

"I didn't have time to find out before he expired. After, I could smell alcohol on him, but that seems an insufficient explanation on its own."

Ryneth considered. "It almost sounds like suicide."

Feyndir nodded. "That's what I think, too. Tanen wanted to die that day, and he chose me as his executioner. Creators only know why."

They walked in silence for a time, and eventually stepped out into a sunny meadow of tall grasses, wildflowers, and loud humming bees. A pair of halla looked up briefly at their approach, then returned to grazing.

"This place is lovely," Ryneth sighed.

Feyndir said nothing, but took her hand and led her along the edge of the clearing. Gradually, a large stone owl rose out of the landscape in front of them, its wings outstretched. It reminded Ryneth of something, but she wasn't sure what. Arranged in a ring around its base were graves.

He stopped before it. "My clan has lived in these woods for six years now, and this is the resting place of the scouts we've lost in that time, mostly to humans. These are the ones who hesitated to loose an arrow, who hoped for understanding, who let down their guard. This is why we don't trust easily."

She wondered if he realized he was still holding her hand. "There are so many of them," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry."

He paused. "Ryneth, I need you to know something else. What we did with Tanen's body after his death wasn't out of malice, or some perverse pleasure. It was to prevent more of my people from dying, and yours, too. To frighten you, disgust you, horrify you even, so you would stay away. So you would leave us in peace."

"Is that what you want, too? For me to stay away and leave you in peace?"

Feyndir looked at her in surprise and dropped her hand. "I...I don't know. It's my fault you're here now, as you said. I should have left you alone after that first day-"

"I'm glad you didn't," Ryneth interrupted. "Everything you've made for me is so lovely, and now I get to thank you in person for it. Thank you, Feyndir."

"Oh...well, ma nuvenin," he said, trying to hide a pleased half-smile, and failing. "And since you are already here, maybe there's time for me to give you a short archery lesson before you need to be back?"


	7. Chapter 7

They walked away from the stone owl, still following the edge of the meadow.

"Here," Feyndir said finally. "Do you see that birch tree in front of us? Draw as if you're going to shoot it."

"All the way over there? I can't hit that!"

"That doesn't matter, for now. Just draw your bow, rabbit."

Ryneth took a breath and pulled an arrow from her quiver. Feyndir watched as she nocked it and pulled back the string.  "Turn your shoulder more toward your target," he said. "No, not like that. Here." He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her gently. "Now raise your elbow - " he reached out and lifted her arm slightly, "- there."  His breath was warm on her ear as he spoke, and she felt her heartbeat quicken in response.  "Alright, fire."

Her arrow missed the tree, but not by as much as she'd expected.

"Very good," Feyndir said. "Draw again."

Ryneth sought out another arrow, but found her hands suddenly clumsy and fumbling. It took her a few tries to get hold of one, place it on the bowstring, and pull back.

"Mmm, no. Draw here, to the corner of your mouth." He brushed her face lightly with the back of his hand, and she raised the bowstring to the spot he'd touched, hoping he didn't notice the pink in her cheeks. "Perfect. Now look straight down the shaft of the arrow at your target, and release."

Ryneth loosed the second arrow. It flew true, the tip embedding in the tree's white bark and sticking.

"I hit it!" She turned to him, excited.

"I knew you could," he said softly. "Now, let's see if you can do it again."

 

She practiced with him until both their quivers were empty, and then they walked down the field together to collect the arrows. Ryneth had managed to sink several into the birch tree, but most still needed to be hunted down in the tall ferns beyond the clearing. By the time they finished, the sun was high overhead.

"Time for lunch," Feyndir said, sliding the last arrow back into her quiver. "Let's eat before we start back."

He led her out into the middle of the meadow, where the tall grasses gave way to a soft, low-growing carpet of tiny white flowers. Unpinning his long cloak, he spread it on the ground and they both sat down on it. Ryneth looked about in wonder. Down here, the grasses around them were like gently swaying walls, as if they were in a private room whose ceiling was the wide blue sky above.

Feyndir took a small pack off his back and opened it. "It's not much," he apologized. "Scouts are expected to travel light." He broke a loaf of dark bread and handed her one half, then unwrapped several layers of linen to reveal a pale cheese. He pulled out his dagger and cut into it. The smell was strong enough to make Ryneth recoil.

"Ugghh. What is that stuff?" she said, covering her nose with one hand.

"This? This is cheese." He looked amused.

"I've never smelled any cheese like that before; are you certain it's not rancid?"

"No, it's halla cheese. That's how it always smells." He cut a small slice and offered it to her. "Try it, it's good. I promise."

"Uh...no thanks. Anyway, I thought you considered the halla sacred?"

"We do." He put the cheese on his own bread and bit into it.

"But you milk them?"

"Mmhmm." He chewed and swallowed. "We also ride them, and they pull our aravels. But only if they're willing."

"Oh." There was something else Ryneth had been wanting to ask, and now seemed as good a time as any. "Are the markings on your face for the halla, too?"

"Ah," Feyndir smiled faintly. "I was wondering when you'd ask about my vallaslin." He pulled an apple out of the bag and tossed it to her. "Does it bother you?" He said it lightly, but she sensed he cared more about the answer than he let on.

"No, of course not." It was only a small lie. The truth was that his tattoos had scared her witless when she first saw him, but she now found them more interesting than frightening. She even found those lines that traveled partway down the bridge of his nose to be oddly endearing. "I just wondered if there was some meaning to it."

He nodded. "Yes, several. The markings themselves honor our gods - mine specifically honors Mythal - but receiving them is also a right of passage into adulthood."

Ryneth considered this. "And how long have you had yours?"

He laughed. "Is that a clever way of asking my age? I'm twenty-six, rabbit."

She turned the apple over in her hand absently. "So, you were my age when your clan came to live in this forest?"

"Your age, but I felt much older." He sighed heavily. "I won't spoil a pleasant afternoon with that story, though. Perhaps another time."

They finished eating, and Feyndir shook out his cloak and refastened it about his shoulders. Ryneth took a last look about her, reluctant to leave the sunny glade behind for the cool shade of the forest.

"It's too bad we can't stay longer," she sighed.

Feyndir looked around, as if seeing the place for the first time. "It is rather pretty here," he said, "but there are far lovelier places in these woods."

"I wish I could see them."

He gave her a thoughtful look. "We should be going. You need to be home before the rest of your family returns."

 

The walk back was longer than Ryneth remembered. Feyndir spoke little, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. She trailed behind him, contemplating aspects of her archery lesson that had nothing to do with archery.

He stopped so suddenly that she almost ran into him.

"Get down," he whispered.

Immediately, she crouched amidst the tall ferns, wondering what he'd seen. Was there a bear nearby, or a wolf? She waited for him to make some move, but he stood still, leaving his bow on his back. Seconds ticked by slowly. From somewhere off in the distance, a bird called shrilly.

And Feyndir cupped his hands around his mouth and returned the call. Ryneth understood then why he wasn't hiding with her, or preparing to fight some beast. The danger he was concealing her from was one of his own people.

After a few nervous minutes, he motioned to her and she stood back up, shaken but relieved.

"Another scout," he said, frowning. "He shouldn't have been this far south, but he's gone now."

They moved on, and eventually Ryneth began to recognize the woods around them. They were close now, a little further and she could see the blue sky beyond the edge of the forest.

Feyndir stopped again. "This is where I must leave you," he said, avoiding her gaze.

"Okay." She wanted him to say more, waited for it, but he remained silent. "Will I see you again?"

"It would be dangerous for you. For both of us. I couldn't ask it of you."

"Feyndir...." Impulsively, she took his hand. "I...I'm still a terrible shot. Couldn't we risk one more lesson?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "In truth, you are already much improved," he said quietly. "But since you insist, meet me here in three days. I'm sure I can find something more to teach you." He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "Now run along home, rabbit, before you're caught."


	8. Chapter 8

Sean was sharpening ax blades and contemplating his daughter's changeable moods. She'd seemed so happy the previous evening; he'd even heard her humming to herself as she washed the dishes. It made a pleasant change from the days of moping that preceded it, though the cause of her sudden good mood eluded him. Some mysterious womanly thing, perhaps.

He finished with a blade and set it aside. Elrech never assigned him the heavy labor of felling trees or sawing planks. Instead, Sean spent most days either supervising crews or maintaining the tools. It sometimes made him feel he he wasn't quite earning his keep, but his younger brother insisted otherwise. And Hendry certainly made up for his old man, in any case.

Sean looked over with pride to the saw pits, where his son was operating the top end of a pit saw. The lad in the pit below was a local, and both of them had shed their shirts in the afternoon heat. Already, the hard work was beginning to show itself in Hendry's physique; his gangly adolescent's body was slowly being replaced by a man's. Soon even Sean's youngest child would be an adult.

Once again, he found himself second-guessing the decision to move his family back to the Hinterlands. To him, it was home, but what was it to them? They'd lived all their lives in the Marches - would they really be happier here? Perhaps it had been selfish of him to want to return to someplace familiar after Kaitryn died. Someplace that didn't feel constantly empty in her absence.

Sean picked up another ax. Best not to dwell on decisions already made, he told himself. They were all adjusting well, and there was even the prospect of a husband for Ryneth. Phinneas had seemed interested enough -

A bell rang off in the distance, and then another, closer. Sean dropped the axe and turned toward the forest. Alarm bells. All through the camp, people stopped what they were doing and looked at each other questioningly. Some began to move slowly away from the forest's edge, while others moved toward it, curious.

Sean joined those moving slowly toward the ringing bells, but only after motioning for Hendry to stay put. Likely there was another bear in the vicinity; they seemed to pop up near the camp on a regular basis. He put a hand on the handle of his sword, just in case.

"Dalish!" someone called from inside the woods. "It's the Dalish!"

Sean felt the color drain from his face. The other workers who'd stepped forward with him began backing away themselves now. Ahead, through the trees, he could see the first of the tree fellers running toward him.

"What's going on?" he asked, stopping one breathless man as he passed.

"They dropped out of the trees like spiders," the man said, his hands on his knees as he panted. "They slit Wilgern's throat - he was dead before he even saw them."

"How many are there?"

The man shook his head. "If I'd stayed to count, I'd be dead now, too."

Sean patted him on the back and moved on, drawing his blade. As he passed into the forest, two more men came hurrying towards him, supporting a third man with an arrow in his leg. Sean recognized one of them.

"Morgen!" he called. "Did the rest of your crew make it out?"

Morgen shook his head. "Bartley is dead. I don't know where Jexen is."

Sean cursed under his breath. Jexen was one of the Haven refugees, a quiet boy only slightly older than Hendry. "Get back to camp," he said. "I'll find him."

A few more woodsmen ran past, their eyes wide with fear, and then the forest was quiet. Sean continued up the path, moving as soundlessly as he could. Eventually the trail narrowed, and he knew he was approaching the Dalish border. Immediately, he began searching for their distinctive arrows stuck in the nearby trees, as Elrech had shown him. It was how the elves marked the portion of the great forest they considered theirs.

He didn't see a single one. Sean stopped and turned around, feeling disoriented. He'd been in this part of the forest enough times to know roughly where the markers should be, but they weren't there. He walked on, more slowly now as the terrain became unfamiliar. There were signs of violence here; a bloody handprint on the trunk of a massive oak, a single shoe, trampled ferns. But no bodies, and no Jexen.

He was considering turning back when he heard a strangled cry from somewhere just up ahead. "Jexen!" he called, abandoning caution as he ran toward the sound. Sword in hand, he plunged up a small rise and forced his way through a dense cluster of bushes. In a small clearing on the other side, Sean found the boy on his knees, surrounded by a half-dozen Dalish. The bodies of four other woodsmen lay nearby. It appeared they'd been dragged to the spot from wherever they'd fallen.

The elves had heard him coming, of course. The nearest one, a dark-haired young man, had already drawn his bow, the arrow pointed straight at Sean's chest.

"Hold!" Sean said, stopping in his tracks and dropping his sword. "I yield!"

One of the other elves, a woman with blood-spattered face and clothing, made a disgusted noise. "Even here, the shems think they're in charge. What are you waiting for, Feyndir?"

Sean spoke quickly. "Let the boy go," he pleaded. "He's innocent. I'll take his place."

"None of them are innocent," said the woman. "They removed our markers, and they trespassed onto our lands to harvest our trees. They understood the penalty."

Jexen began to whimper, a pitiful sound that made Sean feel sick in his gut.

"There must be a mistake," he said, trying to think.

"There's no mistake," said the elf with the bow. "Your brother ordered it so. Go now, and inform him what his gamble has cost." He spoke evenly, but there was a pleading look in his eyes that Sean couldn't understand.

"Not without the boy," he said, barely able to hear his own words over the sound of blood pumping in his ears.

"Mythal's mercy," said a third, blonde-haired elf. He pulled a dagger from his belt and grabbed Jexen's hair, yanking his head back. Before Sean could utter a word, he'd slit the boy's throat from ear to ear. Jexen stared forward in surprise, his mouth moving soundlessly as his blood poured out onto the forest floor. Then the elf let go, and he fell face-first into the dirt. "There. No one left to save but yourself, hero."

 

Sean trudged back through the forest, his eyes stinging with tears. Poor Jexen. It would be easy to blame the Dalish, and he did blame them, but if Elrech had ordered his workers to tear out the markers....

The camp itself was largely deserted, but Sean found Elrech inside his tent. Phinneas was with him, and he could hear the two of them arguing as he approached.

"-not worth it, Elrech. You're going to start a war!"

"A war occurs between two civilizations. These Dalish are little more than bandits and outlaws with pointed ears."

"Even so, you should have sent soldiers with the workers."

"What soldiers? Every mercenary group within fifty miles has already signed on with that half-baked Inquisition!"

Sean entered the tent and sat down heavily in a chair. The two men looked at him and fell silent. "We lost five men," he told them. "Including one named Jexen who was barely more than a boy. Andraste's sweet arse, can someone please tell me why you knowingly sent men into Dalish territory?"

Elrech sighed heavily. "Change is coming, Sean. For years now, we've honored the so-called borders of this Dalish clan, waiting patiently for them to move on. We've logged to the west and south, staying out of the areas to which they've laid claim. But the forest is growing thin, and we need to expand our operations to the north. Especially now, when demand for lumber is so high."

Sean snorted. "Tell me this isn't about greed, brother. Tell me you didn't send those men to die because you smelled profit."

"I didn't send anyone to die - not knowingly. Several of the refugees working in that area were former soldiers; I thought they'd be enough to fend off any retaliation by the elves. And they might well have managed it if they hadn't panicked."

"Of course they panicked," Phinneas scoffed. "The knife-ears hid in the canopy, then fell on their backs slashing and screaming in that gibberish speech of theirs."

Elrech grimaced. "I'll admit I didn't predict the brutality of the attack. The clan grows more wild with every passing year, it seems. If we can't move them on, then we'll have to exterminate them. Somehow." He looked at Sean. "I know this isn't what you signed on for...."

Sean stood up wearily. "You won't stop the Dalish by flinging lumberjacks and refugees at them, I can tell you that," he said. "If you truly want them gone, you'll need to come up with a better plan. In the meantime, I suggest you go back to working the forests to the south and west, and pray that the foolishness you began today also ends today."

"Well said, Uncle," Phinneas said quietly.

Sean started to leave, then turned back around. "And Hendry doesn't leave this camp from now on."

 

 

By the following morning, the Dalish had finished re-marking their border with Elrech's camp. The blood of the slain workers was smeared on the trunk of every tree for over a mile, and at the end of the line their mutilated bodies swung together, hung from the branches of a great white oak.


	9. Chapter 9

"I will be fine, honestly. I'll keep the door locked, and the curtains closed, and I'll live like a cloistered Chantry sister until you return."

Hendry frowned at her. "It's not a joke, Ryneth. You weren't there, you didn't see-"

"Neither did you, but you've told her all about it. Multiple times," said Sean, pulling on his boots. "She understands, son. Don't you, dear?" He stood up and kissed his daughter's forehead.

"Yes, father," she said, playing the dutiful daughter. "Don't worry about me."

Sean smiled. "I will never not worry about you, but I also trust you."

Hendry rolled his eyes. "A fat lot of good that will do her if a horde of murderous knife-ears comes calling."

"Hendry!" Sean scowled at his son.

Hendry shrugged his shoulders and walked out.

"Just like yesterday - we'll give four knocks when we get home, so you'll know it's us."

Ryneth nodded. "I'm the one who should be worried about you, you know."

Sean shook his head. "Don't be. Hendry and I will be safe enough in the camp. The Dalish don't leave the forest, remember?"

She smiled weakly at him, knowing there was at least one Dalish who did, on occasion, venture out of the woods. "I remember."

When they were finally gone, she shut the door and leaned against it with a sigh. It was dark in the cabin with all the curtains shut, but at least it meant she didn't have to look at the boards nailed up behind them. Those had been Hendry's idea, and his compromise with their father had been to leave just enough space between them to see out. Now the sunlight streamed in as if through prison bars.

Ryneth waited a few minutes, then cracked the door open again. She looked as far as she could down the dusty trail, and when she was satisfied that her father and brother were gone, she slipped out and headed to the barn. There, she opened the chest and unwrapped her bow and arrows, her hands shaking. She wondered whether what had happened near Elrech's camp changed things between her and Feyndir. Perhaps he wouldn't want to see her now, because she was human. Maybe he'd even be angry with her. She knew it was an irrational thought, but she couldn't help it. At least she'd find out soon, one way or the other.

She walked up the short rise to the forest quickly, her bow on her back and her heart thumping. It had rained the night before, and the leaves of the trees still dripped when the breeze shook them. The morning air was fresh and cool. She inhaled deeply, and entered the woods.

 

"Rabbit!" She didn't have to search for him this time. Feyndir called out to her as soon as she'd crossed into the forest, a look of incredulity on his face. She approached, and he took both her hands in his. "You came!"

"Of course I did - you promised me another archery lesson."

He shook his head. "I thought I might not see you again, after what happened...."

"You saved my father's life, Feyndir." She spoke quietly, looking deep into his eyes.

"No, I only spared it; it's not the same thing." He looked away. "Your father is very brave, just like his daughter."

Ryneth raised an eyebrow. "You think I'm brave?"

He smiled slightly. "Not even death threats scare you off, vhenan."

"Again with the Elven. What are you calling me this time?"

Feyndir turned red. "Ask me later," he said. "Come on, I'm taking you to one of those lovely places you wanted to see."

 

The walk was long, but Ryneth didn't mind. The forest felt more alive today for some reason, full of birdsong and flowers and scampering animals. Feyndir shot a nug and hung it off his belt. He pointed out another one that she might take, but she couldn't bring herself to shoot at it.

"You should; it's good practice," he said.

"But they're so cute! I don't want to kill it."

"They're also delicious, and their skin is useful." He shook his head. "You're definitely not Dalish."

Ryneth laughed. "What gave it away? Was it my ears?"

He smirked. "No, the great clodding boots on your feet."

Ryneth knew a challenge when she heard one. "Very well," she said, sitting down on large rock. Feyndir watched, amused, as she worked her boots and stockings off. She stuffed the latter into the former, tied the laces together, and slung them over her back. "Lead on."

"Rabbit..." said Feyndir, "are you sure this is a good idea?"

"If you can do it, so can I."

"As you wish, then. We're nearly there, anyway."

A few minutes later, they emerged into a clearing at least twice as large as the one they'd visited previously. At its center stood the ruins of a great stone building, its wide columns and arching doorways covered over in white flowering vines. Halla wandered in and out amongst the crumbling walls, grazing, while their fawns chased each other playfully. A few of them stopped and turned to look in Ryneth's direction.

"A ruin from the time of Elvhenan," Feyndir said with a sigh. "When elves ruled Thedas."

"It's still beautiful, after all this time." Ryneth started walking towards it, then stopped. There was gravel under the tall grass, the crushed remains of other structures. The pieces bit at her bare feet, but she was determined not to show it. She moved slowly forward again, hobbling slightly.

Feyndir allowed her to stumble ahead in this fashion for a while and then, seeing that she wasn't going to admit defeat, laughed and swept her up in his arms. She gasped.

"Feet hurt?" he asked playfully.

"No," she said, breathless with surprise. "A little, maybe."

He carried her into the ruins and set her down on a wide stone slab.

"Let me see," he said, sitting down beside her. She put one of her feet in his lap, and he picked it up and examined the bottom. "Just a little red," he announced. "No magic required, though I could kiss it better if you like."

Ryneth felt a flutter in her stomach. She nearly pulled her foot away in embarrassment, but instead she heard herself say, "Could you?"

Feyndir studied her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether she was serious. Then, slowly, he lifted her foot to his mouth and brushed the top of it with his lips, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Did that help, rabbit?" he asked, his voice strangely husky.

Ryneth's whole face felt as if it were on fire. "Much better, thanks," she mumbled.

"Good. Then put your boots back on, and we'll have that archery lesson I promised you."

 

The lesson did not go as well as either of them had hoped. There were too many halla in the field, and Ryneth was terrified she'd accidently shoot one again. Feyndir kept shooing them away, but they were so curious and docile that they wandered back again within minutes. Finally, he threw his hands up in defeat and suggested they return to exploring the ruin, instead.

"Feyndir," Ryneth said as they stepped carefully across the fractured mosaic floor, "my father said you knew Elrech was his brother, but I never told you that."

"I know a lot of things you've never told me. I do have other sources of information, you know."

"Do you know things about me?"

Feyndir stopped and looked at her. "One or two things, yes. I know Phinneas Brighton fancies you, for example. Though that's really more about him than you, I suppose."

Ryneth didn't know quite how to respond to that information, especially considering the source. "I'll keep that in mind," she managed finally.

Feyndir frowned. "You should. After all, you could certainly do worse for yourself, if you're not careful."

"If I'm not careful?" she repeated. They passed under a broken archway and into some sort of antechamber. Within, the walls were decorated with paintings of elves on leaping halla. Some of them brandished weapons, but she couldn't tell if they were hunting or riding into battle.

Feyndir pretended to study the mural. "You're a beautiful woman, Ryneth," he said. "You're fearless, and kind, and innocent. But not every man who might desire you will be able to make you happy."

She moved to stand in front of him, forcing him to look at her instead of the wall.

"I'm happy right now," she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

He shook his head. "There's no future in this, rabbit," he warned, but she could see the longing in his eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

Ryneth moved in closer, inhaling the sweet, now-familiar scent of him, and put a tentative hand on his marked cheek. "Feyndir..." she murmured, pleading.

It was enough, and he moved with a sudden ferocity that took her by surprise. Grabbing her hand by the wrist, he pressed her back up against the painted wall. His other hand he hooked expertly behind her knee, raising it to his hip in one swift movement. He paused then, like a drowning man coming up for one last gasp of air before surrendering to the sea, and she felt his heart beating frantically against her own. "Ar lath ma," he sighed, and kissed her with such deep desperation that she needed no translation.

 

By the time he finally pulled away, they were both panting. Ryneth put a careful hand to her neck and drew it away, relieved when she saw no blood. Several of Feyndir's more passionate kisses had included teeth, and while she'd found it immensely pleasurable in the moment, it left her sore.

"Sorry about that," he said, still catching his breath. "I've wanted to kiss you ever since you fell off that ledge. I suppose I got a bit carried away."

Ryneth laughed. "I didn't fall off, the ledge gave way." She wagged a finger at him. "And I knew you found it funny."

"I find you amazing," he said, wrapping his arms around her. She returned the embrace, enjoying the feel of his strong, lithe body through his tunic.

"Earlier you called me 'vhenan'," she reminded him, her face nestled against his neck.

"It means you're my heart, rabbit. You're my very heart."


	10. Chapter 10

Feyndir would berate himself later for his carelessness. Clouded by bliss and distracted by joy, he didn't listen as closely as he should have to the movements of the birds in the trees, to the scampering of small animals that would have told him someone was drawing near. Too busy gazing at his love, he didn't check the branches above their heads as often as he should have. He wasn't as alert to every snapping twig, every rustle of leaves, as a scout ought to be.

Still, they nearly made it. The edge of the forest was in sight, and he was preparing himself to part with Ryneth yet again when he finally noticed they weren't alone. Instinctively, he positioned himself between her and whomever approached, silently reaching for an arrow.

"Will you draw on me now, lethallin?" Atharil stepped out from behind the trunk of a birch tree, his pale hair catching the dappled sunlight, and dropped noiselessly to the ground before them. He smiled, but his light eyes flickered with concealed anger.

Ryneth gasped, and Feyndir put up a hand to quiet her. "You surprised me, my friend."

"You surprise me, as well." Atharil began to circle slowly, trying to get around him, but Feyndir matched his steps. "This is the shem girl from the cabin, is it not? She's been in our forest before."

Feyndir wondered how long his clansman had been following them. "She is leaving," he said. "She's no threat to us."

Atharil raised an eyebrow. "Isn't she?" He looked at Ryneth. "That's quite a bow you have there, shem. Wherever did you get it?"

Feyndir heard her struggling to answer, but dared not turn to comfort her. "Leave her, Atharil," he warned, his voice low.

Atharil ignored him. "Your quiver has the image of Andruil upon it. Do you even know who Andruil is? Do you worship the Creators?"

"I...I don't mean to offend you," Ryneth stammered. Feyndir realized she was close to tears, and felt his hands balling into fists.

Atharil turned back to him. "I knew something was wrong when you wouldn't shoot that old man near the logging camp. I did not think to find this, however." His lip curled up in a sneer. "You're a race traitor, Feyndir. She will bear you shem children, and your descendants will never be of the People again."

Feyndir grabbed him by the front of his tunic, and heard Ryneth cry out behind him. "In-Fen'Harel ma, Atharil," he growled, shoving him away. "I do not care what you think."

Atharil stumbled, but remained on his feet. "You dishonor your parents' memory, lethallin," he said, pointing an accusing finger at Feyndir. "You dishonor my sister. She would -"

"Do not speak to me of Anarra!" Feyndir shoved him again, harder, and he fell to the ground.

Atharil's face twisted in rage for a moment, then unexpectedly softened. "I know you miss her, Feyndir," he said. "But this is not what she would want for you."

Feyndir was acutely aware that Ryneth was listening to every word, and desperately wished she were not. Or rather, he wished he'd already told her of his past, so that she need not hear it this way.

"Anarra would not begrudge me this happiness," he said quietly.

"This will not bring you happiness in the long run," Atharil said, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. "You already know it. If the Keeper finds out...."

"Will you not tell her, then?"

Atharil cast a long look at Ryneth, who stood trembling in Feyndir's shadow. "I don't know," he said with a heavy sigh. "Perhaps, given some time, you might come to your senses on your own."

Feyndir hadn't realized he was holding his breath. Now he exhaled, relieved. "Ma serannas."

"Do not thank me yet; I've made no decision." Atharil shook his head. "I would not see you suffer, Feyndir, though I fear you are bringing it upon yourself. But I'll leave you now; we'll speak more of this when you return to camp. Dareth shiral, brother."

Feyndir nodded, and Atharil withdrew into the forest. He turned guiltily to Ryneth.

"Who is Anarra?" she asked, tears sliding down her cheeks. Feyndir couldn't tell whether he or his clansman had caused them, but he wiped them away as best he could, leaving smudges of dirt on her pretty, freckled face.

"She was my wife, rabbit," he said softly. "I'm sorry you found out about her this way; I would have told you eventually."

Ryneth nodded, sniffing. "What happened to her?"

Feyndir motioned for her to sit down, and she perched on the edge of a gnarled root. He sat beside her, taking one of her hands in his.

"Before my clan came to this forest, we used to move from place to place much like other Dalish," he began. "But in the last place we camped, a sickness fell upon us. It also struck a nearby human village, and though no one knew where it originated, the humans blamed my people for spreading it. They pressured us to move on, but many were so ill that the Keeper feared travelling might kill them. She put off leaving, hoping to give them more time to recover." He scowled. "The humans got tired of waiting. They struck while the hunters were gone, and killed everyone they found in camp. The old, the sick, the children...."

Ryneth squeezed his hand. "I'm so sorry, Feyndir."

He took a deep breath. "My parents were among the ill. Anarra should have been out hunting with me, but she'd stayed behind to look after them. When I returned, I found her body beside theirs, her sword still in her hand." He paused. "I thought my younger sister must be dead, too, but I couldn't find her remains anywhere. Finally, I called out for her, and she came crawling out from under a bush. Anarra had sent her to hide when she saw the humans coming. She's the only family I have left now."

"It's no wonder your clan hates humans," Ryneth said.

"They don't hate you, not really," Feyndir said, stroking the back of her hand absently. "They fear you. There are so many more of you than there are of us. They fear that one day you'll kill us all, but not before you've stripped us of our identity, our dignity, and our freedom." He pointed off into the forest. "Atharil, meanwhile, fears you'll breed us into oblivion."

Ryneth blushed. "What will happen if he tells your Keeper about us?"

Feyndir wanted to assure her that everything would be all right, but there was no scenario he could imagine in which that was the truth. "Nothing good," he said finally, and left it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no canon Elvish translation of "May the Dread Wolf take you". Patrick Weekes tweeted that "In-Fen'Harel ma" is one possibility, so that's what I've used in this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

"I have good news," her father said that evening. "You'll have a bit of a distraction tomorrow, Ryneth. Something to get you out of the house for a change."

Ryneth nearly snorted with laughter, but managed to make it sound like a cough. Her feet were still sore from all the walking she'd done with Feyndir that day, both in and out of boots. A distraction, though - that she could use. Anything to keep her from thinking about Atharil, and what he might or might not be telling his clan's Keeper.  "Oh?" she said.

Sean sat down across from her at the table. "You know, things have been difficult at the camp since...what happened. Everyone is on edge, and it's put a lot of stress on Phinneas. And I know you must be tired of staring at these four walls -"

Ryneth put her head in her hands. "You didn't."

"I didn't what? I only told him I thought you could both use a day out, to relax. He filled in the blanks quick enough from there, I can tell you. He wants to take you picnicking tomorrow, if you've no objection." He raised his bushy eyebrows, as if to make it clear he saw no reason why she should object.

"Picnicking?" she repeated. "I don't know...." Her mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse not to go. Nothing came to mind that didn't involve using the word 'elf'.

"Perhaps Hendry would like to come along?" she offered, thinking to use him as a handy third wheel.

Hendry, stretched out on the rug in front of the fire, grunted. "Nice try, but I'm not interested in being part of your date."

"It's not a date," Sean said quickly, seeing the look on her face. "It's just two friends enjoying a lovely day together and...perhaps getting to know each other better."

"That's a date," said Hendry. Sean scowled at him.

Ryneth could see no way out of it that wouldn't draw suspicion. "Very well," she said with a sigh. She wouldn't see Feyndir again for another two days, anyway. Hopefully, he wouldn't hear of the outing before she had a chance to tell him about it herself.

 

Phinneas arrived promptly at eleven the following morning, looking dashing in a velvet doublet and leather breeches, his raven hair falling in loose curls about his face. Ryneth had felt a bit overdressed putting on her best blue dress again, but as soon as she saw him she realized how shabby she looked in comparison. She was literally his poor relation, and it showed.

Phinneas, to his credit, appeared not to notice. He seemed genuinely pleased to see her, though when he drew near she could see dark circles under his eyes that hadn't been there the last time they'd met. Her father hadn't been exaggerating about her cousin's need for a break from his responsibilities.

"My dear Ryneth," he said, bowing slightly as he kissed her hand. It made her think of the time Feyndir had done the same, and the smouldering look he'd given her while he did it. The memory made her blush slightly, and Phinneas smiled, thinking it was for him.

"Cousin Phinneas," she said, managing an awkward curtsy. "Where are we headed this morning?"

He laughed. "Straight to business, then, as it were? Ah, but our destination is a surprise; come along and see." He mounted his horse, a sleek black mare with a white star on her forehead, and Ryneth followed him on Molly. They rode in companionable silence for a time, the late morning sunshine warm and the breeze gentle. Ryneth had to admit it was a pleasant change to be out on horseback, and not clambering over roots and vegetation in the forest.

Finally, she recognized a familiar building up ahead. "Are you bringing me to your house again?" she said, surprised.

"Just a quick stop to pick up our basket," he explained. "We were going to be headed in this direction anyway, so I told Mira to have it ready for us as we passed."

"Mira?"

"The other one of my mother's elves. She always looks annoyed, so don't mind her. It's not easy finding well-trained rabbits this far from the cities."

Ryneth felt his words like a punch in the chest. She'd heard people speak this way before, of course, and had always found it offensive. But now it felt personal, as well. She gripped Molly's reins tighter, and said nothing.

As they approached the house, Ryneth could see a small, red-haired elf waiting for them near the roadside. She was holding a cloth-covered basket with both hands, and she looked every bit as irritated as Phinneas had said she would.

"Thank you, Mira," Phinneas said, leaning down to take it from her. She handed it to him with a grunt, and headed back towards the house.

"Do you see what I mean?" he said as they rode on. "Atrocious manners. She's only one step removed from those knife-ears in the woods, I swear."

Ryneth looked back over her shoulder. Mira had stopped walking, and was silently watching the two of them ride away. She wondered if Phinneas had any idea how right he likely was.

 

They rode on, leaving the road behind and travelling cross-country until they came to a flower-speckled hillside overlooking a small lake. Phinneas dismounted first, and then helped Ryneth down off Molly.

"This is it," he said, pride in his voice. "What do you think?"

Ryneth looked around. "There's a lovely view," she said. "I feel as if I can see for miles."

"You can." Phinneas bent slightly, and pointed at a far-off clearing on the edge of a great green expanse. "That's the logging camp over there. Can you see it?"

"I can. This is the first time I've seen it, actually." She squinted, trying to make out her father or Hendry, but the distance was too great.

"Elrech's given me this land," Phinneas said. "I'm planning to build a house here soon, if I can find a wife to share it."

Alarm bells started ringing in Ryneth's head. "I'm so hungry," she lied, changing the subject. "Let's see what Mira packed for us."

 

"My father tells me things are tense at the camp," she said, nibbling on a small, frilly cake.

Phinneas sighed. "That's an understatement. If our operation was a ship, I'd call it a mutiny. Twice already I've had to stop men from heading off to 'settle things' with the Dalish. It's ridiculous, of course. They'd be slaughtered."

Ryneth paled at the thought of more fighting.

He took a measured sip from his wine glass. "I don't blame them for being angry, obviously. What those knife-ears did was sickening, barbaric. We all want vengeance. Still, rushing in blindly is not the answer."

Ryneth knew she needed to choose her next words carefully. "Perhaps the elves will leave you in peace now, if you honor their boundaries."

"It was a mistake removing their markers in the first place, that's certainly true. But what's done is done, and the boundaries are now marked in human blood, Ryneth. That cannot go unanswered."

She felt sick. "What will you do, then?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Phinneas looked off toward the distant forest. "Elrech has an idea, but it will take a while to work out the details. I just hope we can convince everyone to give us the time we need, and not take matters into their own hands. There's been some talk in Drayton of raising a band of vigilantes to find the Dalish encampment."

"But they won't do that, surely?"

He shrugged. "I hope not. Even if they succeed, many of them would be killed. There are better ways of handling knife-ears, if they can be patient." He smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, this is grim talk for such a pleasant day, and such pleasant company. Perhaps we should speak of something else?"

Ryneth allowed him to steer the conversation toward other topics then, but she heard little of what he said. She'd hoped the recent violence was isolated, and that the gruesome nature of it would keep people from trying to engage the Dalish further. That's the way Feyndir had said it worked, wasn't it? Except that this time the elves had gotten it wrong, somehow. The people of Drayton were more furious than frightened, and now they plotted revenge.


	12. Chapter 12

It was late when Feyndir returned to camp. A full moon rested on the treetops, and all the fires burned low. Most of his clansmen were already asleep, though a few tired faces nodded silently at him as he passed.

"Aneth ara, brother." Freylen, seated on a log, looked up sleepily from her book. "It is good to see you safely home."

"You should not have waited up, sister," he said quietly. "Go to bed."

She yawned. "Soon I will have my vallaslin, and you won't be able to tell me what to do."

"Soon is not yet." He tousled her chestnut hair and walked on, smiling faintly.

 

When he reached his tent, Feyndir found Atharil already waiting for him, disappointment still evident in his eyes.

"Ir abelas, Feyndir. I was angry with you earlier, but I am no longer."

Feyndir nodded. "I'm sorry as well, lethallin. Shall we talk?"

"Yes, but not here." Atharil began walking, and Feyndir followed, confused.

"You and I have been friends since childhood. We played together, trained together, hunted together. Then you married Anarra and joined my family, and when she died we mourned together. Always we have looked out for one another, have we not?"

Feyndir didn't understand why Atharil was saying these things. "Of course," he said, frowning. "You have always been a good friend to me, Atharil."

Atharil sighed. "You've been alone for some time, Feyndir. I don't blame you for falling in love with that girl; she is very pretty for a shemlen. But I will always look out for you, my brother, and you are making a terrible mistake."

Suddenly Feyndir realized where they were headed. The Keeper's tent was just ahead, white smoke curling slowly toward the sky through a hole in the roof. He stopped in his tracks.

"Please don't do this," he said, feeling the world fall away beneath his feet.

Atharil regarded him sadly. "I already have."

 

"Andaran atish'an, Feyndir." Keeper Maeven motioned for him to have a seat beside her, her long white hair shining in the firelight. "I want to tell you a story, da'len."

"Hahren, I can-"

The keeper held up a wrinkled hand, and he fell silent.  "This is the story of a scout named Saerana."

The name was vaguely familiar. Feyndir struggled to place it, and the keeper waited patiently, her hands clasped in her lap. "That's the scout who went missing two years ago," he said finally. "The one I replaced."

She nodded. "Would you like to know what happened to her?"

Feyndir frowned. "What do you mean?"

"A keeper knows many stories. Some of them, the people are better off not hearing. But I have decided that you should know this one."

He nodded. "As you wish, Keeper."

She smiled gently. "Saerana was assigned to the same edge of our forest that you have been. But she began behaving strangely, and so I asked another scout to follow her. For three days, the scout reported nothing unusual. But on the fourth day, Saerana left the forest and went to the cabin owned by the human man Tanen. Tanen's wife came out, and they argued. The woman pulled out a dagger and stabbed Saerana. Then she filled a wagon with possessions, and left with her child. Saerana, gravely wounded but still alive, lay gasping on the ground for several hours. Eventually, though, she succumbed to her injury, and died.

Feyndir shook his head. "And the other scout did nothing to help. He could have saved her!"

"Saerana left the forest without permission, da'len. That put her outside the clan's protection, as you are well aware. Whatever happened, there could be no assistance, and no retribution."

"Why would she do such a thing?"

"Listen further, and you may understand. Saerana's body lay in the yard until nearly dusk, when Tanen returned home and found her. As soon as he saw her, he fell on his knees and wept, his cries so loud they reached the ears of the scout who remained, watching, in the forest. 'Oh my dearest, how will I live without you?' he cried. He removed her bow from her back, and took a comb from her hair, and he burned her body in the manner of shemlen."

"They were lovers," Feyndir said, shocked.

"Yes, da'len. You didn't think you were the first Dalish to fall for a human, did you?"

He thought for a moment. "The day Tanen came into the forest...I always thought he wanted to die, and I was right. He wanted to be with Saerana again."

"That seems likely, yes."

"And I killed him." He was filled with a sudden, terrible guilt at the thought.

"You did what had to be done." She sighed. "Now, you will do what must be done again."

Feyndir's stomach turned. He'd become so engrossed in the story that he'd nearly forgotten the reason behind it. "Keeper..." he began.

Keeper Maeven raised her hand again. "You were partly right when you said Saerana could have been saved. If I had only seen what was happening sooner, if I had put an end to her doomed relationship, then she would still be with us. It is not a mistake I intend to repeat." She looked at him gravely. "Feyndir, there is no place in the human world for a Dalish elf, and there is no place amongst the Dalish for a shemlen. For your own safety, as well as that of the entire clan, you must not see this girl again."

"I cannot do that, Keeper. Please-"

"From today onwards, you will scout our southern border, and Atharil will take your place in the east. If he finds you in the company of the shemlen again, he will kill her."

Feyndir was shocked. "But why? This is not her fault. I began this - blame me."

"I am not assigning blame, da'len. I am protecting you from yourself. If you also wish to protect the girl, then keep away from her. Her life is in your hands now."

Feyndir suddenly found it hard to breath. "She will come looking for me," he said weakly. "Allow me to speak with her one more time, so that she will not seek me out."

The keeper was quiet for a moment, considering. "Very well," she said finally. "But you will not go alone. Atharil will accompany you, when you're ready."

"Thank you, Keeper." He left quickly, before his anguish could catch up with him.


	13. Chapter 13

When Ryneth returned from her outing with Phinneas, her bow and quiver were lying in the middle of the family's table.

"Good afternoon, my daughter," said Sean. "How was the picnic?"

She didn't know what to say, or where to look. "Fine," she managed, fighting the urge to gather up her things and hide them.

"I found these in the barn today," he said calmly, picking up the bow and turning it over in his hands.

Ryneth swallowed. "Perhaps they were left here by the previous owner."

"I might have thought that, but they were wrapped up in one of our own blankets. Almost as if someone didn't want anyone to find them." He looked at her. "They're yours, aren't they?"

"Yes." She waited for him to say more, her throat dry.

"They're beautiful," he said, examining the engravings. "The elves always make the most elegant weapons, I think."

"I bought them in Drayton," she said, blurting the idea as it came to her.

Sean frowned. "That's extremely unlikely. This bow is ironbark; it's worth more than everything we own."

"What?" Ryneth couldn't hide her surprise.

"You didn't know?" He smiled faintly. "Whoever gave you these things must care for you greatly, my dear. Does he have a name?"

Ryneth looked down at her hands. "I'd rather not say. It will upset you."

Sean sighed. "You don't know as much as you think, child. I can already guess what you've going to say, but I'd rather hear it from you."

She closed her eyes. "You know his name already, Father. It's Feyndir."

Sean blinked at her. "The Dalish who nearly shot me in the forest?" To her surprise, he suddenly laughed out loud and sat down heavily in a chair. "Maker, Ryneth! I figured it was an elf, but that one? I guess I know now why he let me go, don't I?" He chuckled until Ryneth warily joined in, confused but greatly relieved.

"My darling daughter," he said when he'd finally composed himself, "there's something you should know. Kaitryn made me promise never to tell you or your brother, but given the circumstances I think she would understand." He reached for Ryneth's hand, and patted it clumsily. "Your mother was elf-blooded, dear."

Ryneth gaped at him.

Sean nodded. "It's true. Her own mother lived in Kirkwall's alienage, and Kaitryn was conceived under unpleasant circumstances. After she was born, her mother sought to leave the city and join a Dalish clan, but they wouldn't allow her to bring Kaitryn. In the end, your grandparents adopted her and raised her as their own. As a human."

"But they must have told her the truth at some point," Ryneth said.

"Oh, yes. They told her when they felt she was old enough to understand, and she told me on the day I proposed to her."

Ryneth raised an eyebrow. "Why then, of all times?"

Sean shrugged. "She didn't want to have any secrets from me. I told her it made no difference, and I thought that was the truth, but it wasn't. The truth is, I've never been able to look at elves the same way since. Other people look at them and see something foreign, something lesser. I look at them and see my wife, my children." He wiped a tear from his eye and coughed. "Anyway, I thought you should know."

Ryneth threw her arms around him. "Thank you," she said.

Sean patted her back. "Yes, yes. Now hurry and put your things away before Hendry gets home. That boy is definitely not ready to hear any of this."


	14. Chapter 14

Ryneth felt as though a stone had been lifted from her. She hummed as she walked up the rise toward the great forest, her fingertips skimming the top of the long grass. Her father knew. He knew, and he didn't mind. She couldn't wait to tell Feyndir.

The bright morning sunshine slipped away from her as she entered the woods once again, breathing deeply of its cool, fragrant air. Tiny pink flowers were beginning to bloom all over the forest floor, a carpet of color beneath her feet. A nug lifted its head at her approach and disappeared with a squeak into the undergrowth. She smiled after it.

And then she saw them, and the smile died away on her face. The two elves were standing together a little further into the woods, watching her. Atharil looked grim but determined. Feyndir looked pale. Even from a distance she could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the defeated hunch of his shoulders, and she wanted to turn and run from what she knew was coming.

Her legs wooden, she forced herself forward.

"Feyndir," she said, hearing how small her voice had become.

"Vhenan," he said softly. "I have been reconsidering things between us."

Ryneth felt her face grow hot with anger. She glared at Atharil, who looked away. "This is his doing, isn't it?" she said, taking a step toward him.

Feyndir put out a hand to block her. "This is not about him, rabbit."

"Then what is he doing here?"

"He is...helping me. To remember my intention."

"And what is it you intend, Feyndir?" She could feel tears forming in her eyes, and blinked them back furiously.

"I've made a mistake. I hope you can understand-"

She shook her head. "We are not a mistake. I won't believe that, and I don't think you do, either."

Feyndir started to reach for her, then pulled his hand back. "It doesn't matter what you believe," he said, his voice suddenly cold. "This relationship is doomed, and I am ending it."

Ryneth felt as though he'd slapped her. "It is no more doomed now than when it began!" she cried. "Why must you do this? What has changed?" She pushed against his chest angrily, and when he didn't respond she pounded him with her fists. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Atharil's hand close over the handle of his dagger, but she didn't care. "Answer me!"

Feyndir took hold of her wrists. "Enough," he said, forcing her arms down. "Stop this, rabbit."

Ryneth felt a tear escape and roll down her cheek. With her hands pinned she couldn't wipe it away, and she felt her cheeks grow hot with shame and embarrassment. "I hate you," she said, immediately wishing she could take it back.

He winced slightly at her words. "I'm sorry I've caused you pain," he said, "but I am confident in your ability to endure it. This will not break you, Ryneth."

"Let me go." She twisted in his grip, but he held her fast.

"I won't be in this part of the forest after today. Promise me you won't look for me."

She sneered. "Don't worry; I'm not going to come crawling after you."

"Good." He released her and she rubbed at her wrists, glaring at him. "It's time for you to go, then." With a heavy sigh, he leaned in, and she allowed him to kiss her lightly on the forehead. "Dareth shiral, my rabbit."

Ryneth drew her sleeve across her face, catching angry tears as they fell. "Goodbye, Feyndir," she said, choking back a sob. She turned on her heel, but hadn't gone twenty paces when she remembered the vigilantes. She turned back to warn the elves, but they were already gone.


	15. Chapter 15

Ryneth practiced every day with her bow, until all the trees near the cabin had been riddled with arrows and bore the scars in their bark. It felt good to take her frustration out on something. She tried not to look toward the forest, tried not to wonder who might be silently keeping watch just within. Atharil, probably. She loosed another arrow at the thought of him, and struck the very center of the knot for which she was aiming.

A bird tweeted somewhere higher in the branches, then, and she located and felled it with only the slightest twinge of regret. Walking over to pick it up, it pleased her to think that Feyndir would be impressed with her improvement both in accuracy and practicality. Then she was angry at herself for caring. She didn't want to think about him anymore, didn't want to wonder if he thought of her or whether he regretted his decision. She didn't want to, but she couldn't stop.

Sean had noticed, of course, that something was amiss with his daughter. She waited until Hendry was outside chopping wood to tell him what, and though he commiserated wholeheartedly, he also suggested that perhaps Feyndir was right in ending things. "It would have been a difficult life for both of you," he said. "It may be that this is for the best, after all." Frustrated, Ryneth didn't attempt to speak with him about it again.

Phinneas, meanwhile, continued to make overtures. While Ryneth felt no great attraction to him, she no longer attempted to rebuff him, either, and he took this as a good sign. He had a new dress delivered to her, emerald green and decidedly Orlesian in design, and hinted that Elrech was planning some kind of party at which she might show it off. She told him she'd be delighted to accompany him.

And then one evening, as they were all sitting around the fire after dinner, Hendry suddenly stood up.

"What are you doing?" Sean said immediately, his tone anxious.

Ryneth looked from her father to her brother, surprised.

"I'm going. I'm joining them," he said simply, taking his sword from the wall.

Sean jumped up. "Don't be foolish, lad. This isn't your fight."

Ryneth stood, too, uncertain what was happening. The book she'd been reading fell to the floor, its pages splayed against the rough planks.

"Isn't my fight?" Hendry echoed, shaking his head. "This is my home, now, and those men were my friends. You may not care about avenging them, but I do."

Ryneth clamped a hand over her mouth as understanding dawned on her.

Sean put a hand on his son's arm. "You're only a boy, Hendry. The Dalish train their whole lives for times such as these. You'll be no match for them."

Sean pulled his arm away. "Maybe not, but someone has to stand for this family, protect Ryneth. Maker knows it isn't going to be you."

"No, it's not," Sean said quietly. "What the elves did was wrong, but they were provoked. Attacking them in return will only worsen the situation."

"Not if we wipe them out." He leaned down and picked up his shield, a simple wooden circle that had seen plenty of use, though not by him.

"Hendry, don't do this!" Ryneth cried. She followed him out the door and into the barn, where he began saddling Molly. "Father is right; it's foolishness!"

He gave her a long look. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, sister, but we'll have the element of surprise on our side. We'll be upon them before they know what's happening, just as they fell upon us." He led the mare out of the barn and mounted, turning her head toward Drayton. Desperate, Ryneth grabbed at the reins, but he yanked them away. "Stay inside, and keep the door locked," he said, and then he was gone.

Ryneth stood in the barn's doorway, staring after him in disbelief. The vigilantes would have the element of surprise, he'd said. She could take that away, but should she? She wasn't an elf, after all, and Hendry was her brother. 'They fear you,' Feyndir had said of his people. 'They fear that one day you'll kill us all'. It wasn't right, descending on their encampment in the dark of night, slaughtering them indiscriminately.

Her heart beating fast, she strode over to the chest and began preparing herself. She was just adjusting her quiver on her back when Sean entered. He leaned heavily on the doorframe when he saw her, shaking his head.

"This isn't your fight, either, you know," he said wearily.

"I can't let them be taken by surprise."

"Why not? Didn't Feyndir make it clear that things are over between the two of you?"

Ryneth glowered at him. "And I should let him die for that? Let his people be wiped out?"

Sean sighed. "No. You must do what you think is right, of course. I was just hoping I might not lose both my children in the same night."

Ryneth embraced him. "I'll be all right, father. I'll warn them what's coming, and I'll return to you straight away. Everything will be fine."

Sean patted her back. "Maker watch over you, girl," he said, and reluctantly let her go.


	16. Chapter 16

Ryneth raced up the rise toward the forest, her bow in her hand and a full moon lighting her way. The tall grass was silver in the moonlight, and it whispered to her as she ran, bending around her skirt as though she were wading through water. 

She stopped when she reached the forest's edge, but only briefly. She looked back at the cabin, a black square on the dark landscape, light leaking out between its boarded windows and smoke rising slowly from its chimney. She could turn around and be safely inside within minutes. It was tempting. Instead, she took a deep breath and entered the woods.

She hadn't counted on how dark it would be within. Without moonlight to aide her, Ryneth stumbled over roots and tripped over loose rocks. Thorns tore at her clothing and scratched her arms, but still she groped her way forward, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. She was waiting to be caught, hoping she wouldn't be shot through with an arrow from afar. Hoping she could warn the elves before they tried to kill her.

She moved deeper and deeper into the woods, beginning to panic. This couldn't be the one time she slipped past the scouts. She needed to be found, and soon. She debated calling out, but didn't know what to say.

She was almost relieved when she felt the blade at her throat. 

"So much for shem promises," said a familiar voice behind her.

"Atharil," she breathed. "I haven't come for Feyndir."

"No?" He pressed the dagger closer; she could feel the edge biting into her skin. "If I kill you, he'll be rid of you forever."

She swallowed. "There are men on the way, Atharil. From Drayton, from the logging camp."

He lowered his blade slightly. "What are you talking about?"

"Vigilantes. They want revenge. They want to find your encampment."

"Fenedhis." He dropped the blade, and she turned cautiously to face him. He looked like a ghost in the darkness, fair-haired and pale, his light eyes flashing. "How many?"

"I don't know. A lot, I think."

He considered. "Why are you telling me this?" he said finally, wagging the end of the dagger at her.

"Because it isn't right, I guess; because I don't want innocent people to get hurt."

He narrowed his eyes, suspicious. "You really see us that way?" 

"As innocent? Not you specifically, maybe, but I assume there are innocents in your camp-"

He shook his head. "As people. You see us as people?"

Ryneth was taken aback. "If I didn't, how could I love Feyndir?"

Atharil opened his mouth, then closed it. "Right," he said at last. "Can you find your way home?"

Ryneth nodded. "I think so."

He gave a shrill whistle. "Go quickly, then. And ma serannas...thank you."

A halla appeared out of the darkness then, bounding lightly and silently across the rough terrain. Atharil crouched slightly when it drew near, then leapt onto its back while it was still in motion, and disappeared into the night. Ryneth stared after him in quiet astonishment for a moment, then hurried off in what she hoped was the right direction.

After feeling her way forward in a more-or-less straight line for several minutes, Ryneth finally glimpsed the edge of the forest ahead. She rushed toward it, eager to return to her father and the warmth and safety of home, then stopped abruptly just inside the trees. Below, coming up the narrow road that ended in front of the cabin, was a dark line of figures. A few held torches aloft, the firelight reflected in the steel of their weapons. 

She watched as they reached the cabin. A handful of them separated from the main group and knocked on the door, and light poured out as Sean opened it. He spoke with them for a moment, shaking his head, then went back inside. The mob moved on, headed straight for her.

Ryneth looked about her helplessly. She couldn't be seen emerging from the forest, but if she stayed where she was they'd be upon her in minutes. There was only one way to go. In a panic, she turned and ran back into the woods.

For a while she moved blindly, certain only that she must keep the vigilantes from catching her in the woods. In the Dalish-only, no-humans-allowed woods, where her mere presence would mark her as a traitor in their eyes. Then she remembered the cave.

In the dark, it was difficult to retrace her steps from that first day, the day she'd shot the halla and met Feyndir. Eventually, though, she found herself standing on the same shale ledge that had given way under her previously. This time, she didn't wait for it to collapse further. She jumped down to the shelf below it and began feeling along the rock wall, searching desperately for the opening from which Feyndir had brought forth blankets. When she found it, she sighed in relief and slipped inside.

The narrow entrance angled back for several feet, then turned on itself and unexpectedly opened into a room-sized cavern. A small fire burned brightly in the center of the floor, the smoke being pulled up and out through a crack in the ceiling. A bearskin lay rolled up along one wall, beside a small bag and a handful of arrows. 

Clearly, the cave was used for more than just storage. With a start, Ryneth realized she'd wandered into a campsite for Dalish scouts. She looked around, wondering how many nights Feyndir had spent in this very spot. Or days, she supposed. When did scouts sleep, anyway?

A shout outside drew her attention. By the sound of it, the mob hadn't reached her yet. Quietly, she crept back outside to have a look.

Peering over the top of the outcropping, Ryneth could see dark shapes moving toward her through the woods. She could also hear them, cursing and yelling as they tripped in the darkness, trumpeting their presence for the whole woods to hear. With all the noise they were making, she began to wonder whether the elves had needed her warning, after all.

Then she heard a new sound. Above her, the leaves began to rustle as tree branches bobbed lightly up and down in the windless night. She squinted up, trying to find the cause, and saw bare feet. So many feet, so many elves, all moving silently over her head toward the invaders. She gasped, and one of them met her gaze before moving on. Archers. She wondered if Feyndir was among them.

Ryneth knew she should retreat into the cave, but she didn't. Not yet. She looked over the outcrop again, and though she could see little in the darkness, she soon heard the sound of arrows whistling through the air. Some of the men fell, there was shouting, and then shadows began falling from the trees, as well. There were archers on both sides of this fight.

Slowly, Ryneth became aware of a soft glow growing behind her. Turning, she saw a pair of young elven mages emerge from the depths of the forest, their staffs alight with crackling energy. Behind them followed more Dalish, the clan's warriors. Ryneth gaped at their gleaming armor, a light reddish metal inscribed all over in twisting, intricate designs. They wore it at their shoulders, their forearms, and their calves, but the remainder of their bodies was protected by lighter and more flexible leather. They would be faster than the humans, and they had the benefit of protective magic, as well. Already, the mages were turning their staffs in the air and slamming them against the earth, releasing faint clouds of magic that settled over the Dalish fighters and emboldened them, shielded them, made them more deadly.

Ryneth knew it was time to get out of the way. She backed slowly into the cave until she could only see a narrow strip of the forest outside. Through the gap, she saw the Dalish begin their advance, heard the growing cries of the vigilantes, and finally witnessed the two sides meet in the very hollow where Feyndir had once put a suffering halla out of its misery.


	17. Chapter 17

She couldn't tell who was winning. Electricity arced through the air, illuminating split seconds of time - a man with his sword buried to the hilt in an elf's chest, another reeling backward with an arrow protruding from his neck. Ryneth crawled to the cave's entrance, watching in horror as the bloodshed unfolded before her. 

And then she saw him. Her brother, little Hendry, who used to play hide-and-seek with her in their neighbor's orchard back in the Marches. Hendry, who used to bring their mother wildflowers every day in the summertime. He was lying on the ground, shot in the gut by an arrow, his face contorted in a scream she couldn't hear over the noise of the battle around him.

Without thinking, Ryneth moved. "Hendry!" she cried, rising to her feet and lurching forward. She exited the cave and ran down the steep slope, skirting the bodies of the fallen and the dying. Dimly, she was aware of the clash of metal on metal nearby, of shouting, of the crack of magic in the air, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was getting to Hendry.

Finally, she reached him, and saw the flash of recognition in his eyes.

"Hold on, Hendry!" she shouted, tugging at one of his arms, trying to pull him toward the safety of the cave. He cried out in pain, but his body barely moved. She tried again, pulling at him with all her strength, but she couldn't get traction in the mud. In what she hoped was mud. She fell back, yelling in frustration and fear.

Someone noticed her. Vaguely, she registered her name being called over the chaos, and turned to find Atharil beside her.

"He's my brother!" she cried to him, not expecting much. To her surprise, though, Atharil pushed her out of the way and picked Hendry up under the arms. Another elf took him by the legs, and together they carried him through the fighting and up into the cave. Ryneth shook out the bearskin, and they laid him on it. Hendry groaned, his eyes fluttering briefly, and fell unconscious.

Atharil left at once, but the other elf remained. He was covered in blood, and bleeding himself from a gash on his upper arm, but he knelt over Hendry, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands together as if in prayer. Only then did Ryneth realize he was Feyndir.

She wanted to reach for him, to say something, but she knew better than to break his concentration. Instead, she watched as the warm orange glow slowly engulfed his hands, brightening until it looked as if he were holding a fireball. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Pull the arrow out, rabbit," he said, urgency in his voice.

Startled, Ryneth did as he asked, wincing as she felt the head tearing more flesh on its way out. Thankfully, Hendry didn't awaken, but blood began pouring from the wound anew. Feyndir covered the hole with his hands swiftly, pressing down as he willed magic to flow into the boy's body. He remained that way for several minutes, until the last of the light had gone from his fingertips. Then he sat back and exhaled heavily. Ryneth looked at Hendry's injury. Blood no longer ran from it, but the wound itself remained deep and raw-looking.

"It's all I can do for now," Feyndir said, rising shakily to his feet. "It should hold him until all this is over." He turned to go, leaving a bloody handprint where he leaned against the wall.

"Feyndir, wait." She didn't know what she wanted to say to him, only that she couldn't bear to send him back into the fray.

"You gave my clan a fighting chance tonight, Ryneth," he said. "After everything, you still risked yourself for them." He motioned toward Hendry. "And then you risked yourself again, for him. You truly are a valiant woman."

Ryneth stood up. "Don't go," she said, taking a step toward him.

He shook his head. "I cannot abandon the fight now, and you must look after your brother."

"And after?"

"If there is an after, we will both find out what happens then." He left, and she sank back down beside Hendry. He moaned in his sleep, and she drew her hand across his forehead.

"It'll be okay, Hendry," she said, not sure whether her words were meant to reassure him or herself. "Everything will be okay." 

 

As unlikely as it seemed, Ryneth supposed she must have fallen asleep. The next thing she knew, the world outside had gone quiet. She checked on Hendry, saw that he was still sleeping peacefully, and went cautiously to the cave's entrance. Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten, and birds were starting to sing in the trees. There were Dalish everywhere, clearing the battlefield of its dead and tending to their wounded. Ryneth ducked back inside, unsure if it was safe to let them see her.

They must have spotted her, though, because soon enough a young woman entered the cave.

"How is your brother?" she asked lightly, as if she and Ryneth were old friends already.

"Uh, he's doing okay, I think. Thank you." She noticed the girl had a staff on her back. One of the mages, then. There was something unusual about her appearance, too, but at first Ryneth couldn't think what. Then she realized the girl's face was clear; she wore no vallaslin. Still a child, then, at least by her clan's reckoning. She didn't look much younger than Ryneth herself. 

"Feyndir will be pleased to hear it," she said, smiling. "I'm the Keeper's second, Freylen. She sent me to fetch you."

"She did? Why?"

Freylen must have seen the terrified expression on Ryneth's face. She raised her hands in a comforting gesture. "No, no, there's nothing to worry about, honestly. She wants to thank you, I think. She wants to...well, I should let her speak for herself. Will you come with me?"

Ryneth looked over her shoulder at Hendry.

"He'll be safe, I promise you." 

Reluctantly, Ryneth followed Freylen outside. She felt exposed, stepping out into the midst of so many Dalish, but Freylen seemed not to notice her discomfort. Some of the elves looked up as they passed - most merely nodded, but a few narrowed their eyes in a manner that made her walk closer to her guide.

Freylen led her deeper into the forest, away from the recent battlefield. There, in a small clearing freckled with tiny flowers, an old elven woman sat perched on the back of an enormous white hart. Her silver hair fell loose to her waist, the only ornamentation a single, thin braid on one side of her head. A number of Dalish stood around her, conferring with her and each other.

When she saw Freylen and Ryneth approaching, the Keeper raised a thin hand, and they all fell silent.

"Andaran atish'an, Ryneth," she said. "I am Keeper Maeven of Clan Lutharra. You are becoming a frequent visitor to our woods."

Ryneth felt her throat go dry. Unable to respond with words, she merely nodded.

The keeper smiled slightly. "Atharil tells me it was your warning that allowed us to repel the shemlen. Do you not feel you've betrayed your own people by your actions?"

The elves in attendance all turned to Ryneth at these words, interested to see how she would respond. A couple of them smirked openly at her obvious discomfort. 

"Every human in Thedas is not 'my people'. I did what I felt was right, and I betrayed no one."

Keeper Maeven tilted her head slightly. "Your own brother was wounded in the fighting. Is he not one of your people, either?"

Ryneth felt anger flare inside her, but pushed it away. "I tried to keep my brother at home, and I rescued him when he fell."

"With help, yes." She was silent for several minutes, stroking the hart's neck. "Very well, Ryneth Brighton," she said finally. "You've proven yourself worthy of some measure of trust, and our clan is in your debt. From now onward, our forest is open to you."

There was immediate muttering, but the keeper lifted her hand again and it stopped.

"Thank you," Ryneth said uncertainly, startled by the swift change of tone. 

"Ma nuvenin, da'len." The keeper paused. "Your brother, however, is not welcome here. He must leave at once, and you will need help to move him. Shall I send Atharil with you, or would you prefer Feyndir's company?"

Ryneth stared at her in disbelief. The old woman clearly already knew who she'd choose, and was toying with her. It suddenly occurred to Ryneth that Keeper Maeven likely knew everything, and was probably behind Feyndir's sudden decision to break things off. But if that were true, then what was this offer? A second chance, a change of heart?

"Feyndir," Ryneth said, keeping her tone as even as possible. "I choose Feyndir."


	18. Chapter 18

Sean was beside himself. As the long night ended and the sun rose in the sky, he despaired that he had, indeed, lost both his children. He'd enquired after Hendry to some of the men who'd come straggling out of the forest in the wee hours of the morning, but none of them knew what had become of him. As for Ryneth, it would have been too dangerous even to ask. 

He was exhausted. He sat at the table, dozing in fits and starts, waiting for news. When someone finally knocked at the door he jumped up, nearly upending his chair in his rush to open it. It was Ryneth, looking tired and disheveled, but unharmed. He let out a cry of relief, and threw his arms around her.

"Thank the Maker, you're safe!"

Ryneth returned the embrace. "We've brought Hendry, too, Father."

Sean noticed the litter, then. His son lay upon it, looking clammy and pale, his lips tinged blue. He groaned softly and held his stomach. Blood stained the fabric beneath and around his fingers.

"He took an arrow. He's lost a lot of blood, but he may yet recover." Sean recognized Feyndir right away. It was difficult to forget someone who'd once been a breath away from ending you, and even more so when that person's expression remained the same. The elf had looked frightened then, and he looked frightened now. Not obviously, perhaps; he was doing his best not to show it. But it was there in his wide eyes nonetheless.

"I see. Thank you for bringing my boy home," Sean answered, hoping to set the Dalish at ease. He motioned toward the door. "Please, can you help me get him to bed?"

Feyndir looked as if Sean had asked him to shake hands with a demon. Still, he nodded, and the two of them carried Hendry inside and made him as comfortable as they could. They laid him in Ryneth's bed, it being the closest, and all the while Feyndir's eyes never left the door. He was like an animal caught in a trap, Sean thought. Momentarily ensnared, but waiting for a chance to disappear back into the wilds from whence he'd come. 

"Have you, um, ever been in a house before, Feyndir?" he asked, trying to sound casual. He knew the Dalish lived a nomadic existance in tents and aravels; the feel of solid, immovable walls all around must be jarring.

The elf finally forced his eyes from the exit and looked about him, as if he'd been waiting for permission to do so. "No," he admitted. "Is it that obvious?"

Sean smiled kindly. "You do look a bit uncomfortable, lad. Don't worry; if you need to be going now, I understand."

Feyndir's shoulders slumped slightly in relief. "Thank you," he said. "I think that would probably be best."

"You can't go!" Ryneth piped up, causing both of them to turn to her in surprise. "Father, Feyndir is a mage. He's performed healing magic on Hendry twice already - he'd be dead without it. But Hendry still needs his help. You won't leave now, will you, Feyndir?"

Sean watched the blood drain from Feyndir's face, leaving him ghostly beneath the dark, vining lines of his vallaslin. "Ryneth, I told you I am no mage," he said, his eyes darting between her face and her father's. "You mustn't say otherwise."

Sean sensed their guest was again preparing to flee, and raised his hands. "I understand you Dalish have your own ways when it comes to magic," he said, "and I'm not interested in making any judgements one way or the other. But if you have been using certain...gifts to help my son, then I'm grateful to you. Extremely. And I hope you won't let my presence prevent you from continuing." He cast a worried glance at Hendry, who thrashed his head and moaned. "I can see that he could still use all the help he can get."

Feyndir eyed the door again, clearly torn. Then he looked at Ryneth, and his gaze softened. "Very well," he sighed. "I will remain for a time, and do what I can for him. But I make no promises to either of you. I truly am not a proper mage."

"We are thankful for anything you can do," Sean said. He considered extending a friendly clap on the shoulder, but thought better of it. No sudden moves was probably the best policy. "Now if you'll both excuse me, I've been up all night in terror for my childrens' lives. Now that I know they're in good hands, I need a rest. I'm going to lie down." He paused. "It's been nice meeting you properly, Feyndir. Perhaps one of these days we can even speak when no one's life is at stake."

Feyndir nodded gravely. "I would look forward to that."

 

When he'd gone, Feyndir slumped into a chair and rubbed at his temples. "I shouldn't have come in here," he said. "Can we at least prop the door open? I can feel the walls closing in on me."

Ryneth obliged, using another chair to hold the door ajar. "How's your arm?"

He touched the strips of cloth wound around the gash. "Fine. Or it will be fine, anyway. I tend to heal a bit quicker than other people." He sighed. "Ryneth, about the Keeper...."

"She told me I'm welcome in the forest now." 

He grimaced. "Allowed, yes. 'Welcome' might be a stretch. I just wonder what she's expecting in return."

Ryneth was confused. "I've already done something for her, for your people."

"I suspect she wants something more. Keeper Maeven is a shrewd woman, and you must be careful of her. If she is offering you...things, then she sees there is something to be gained by it."

She furrowed her eyebrows. "She offered me you, so to speak."

"I know." Feyndir looked away, out the open door. "She was also the reason I had to leave you in the first place, though I imagine you've already figured that out."

"I thought so," she said quietly. "Where does that leave us now, then?"

He sighed. "I am loathe to risk hurting you a second time, rabbit. If the Keeper changes her mind again.... I will need some time to consider." He looked at his hands, flexing his long fingers as a faint glow began to emanate from them. Ryneth realized he was preparing himself for another attempt at closing Hendry's wound. 

"Is it safe for you to make another attempt so soon?" she asked, glad to change the subject. She didn't want to think about the possibility that he would choose not to be with her in the end. She didn't understand how he could possibly think such a thing might be in her best interest.

"Don't worry about me." Feyndir stood up and walked to Hendry's bedside. He pulled the bedclothes back carefully, and placed his hands over the bandages covering Hendry's wound. When he was finished, Hendry opened his eyes briefly and muttered something that the elf had to lean in to hear.

"What did he say?" Ryneth asked.

Feyndir smiled slightly. "Some kind of threat, I think. It's a good sign; he's feeling well enough to object to my presence."

Ryneth was embarrassed. "He's such an idiot. I'm sorry, Feyndir."

He shrugged. "His is the only attitude I'd ever encountered in humans, before you. You and your father are the exceptions to the rule." He caught a stray wisp of her hair in his fingers and smoothed it back absently, the simple contact causing a rush of warmth to spread through her. "I half expected Sean to chase me off with a pitchfork after our last encounter."

She laughed. "Why would he do that? His own wife was elf-blooded."

Feyndir looked at her in surprise. "Your mother?"

Ryneth nodded. "He told me when I told him about you." She glanced at Hendry. "He doesn't know."

Feyndir raised an eyebrow. "No, and I imagine he might take it poorly at present." He cast his gaze toward the door yet again, and took a deep breath. "When this is over, there is one more place in the forest that I'd like to show you. If you're still interested in accompanying me, that is."

Ryneth felt her heart leap into her throat. "I'd love to see it," she said, trying to disguise her excitement. "It'll be nice to finally go somewhere with you without having to sneak."

He nodded. "Indeed. No more hiding for us."


	19. Chapter 19

"I have to admit, this is not the destination I thought you had in mind."

Feyndir grunted. "It isn't, believe me." He paused to give another call, and they waited for it to be returned before walking on.

Ryneth drew a sleeve across her damp forehead. It was hot in the forest today, and it felt as if they'd been walking for an age. "You keep doing that. How many sentries are there, anyway?"

"We're close now, so quite a few, and many of them are young and jumpy. I don't want them to be startled by your approach."

"I have a feeling quite a few of your people are going to be startled, regardless." Ryneth climbed up yet another massive root, and Feyndir took her hand to help her down the other side.

"Let them be," he said, keeping hold of it even after she'd jumped down. "The keeper herself invited you; there's nothing they can do about it. Besides, you have your supporters, you know."

"Do I? Will they come to my defense when your keeper turns on me?" She laughed mirthlessly.

Feyndir frowned. "That's not funny, rabbit. As I told you before, she likely wants something of you. She didn't ask you here to harm you." He didn't look entirely convinced by his own words.

Ahead, Ryneth caught a glimpse of movement. The forest was thinning around them, and through the trees she could see elven children chasing each other, laughing as they ran between tents and past the red sails of an aravel. She stopped in her tracks and squeezed Feyndir's hand hard.

"Maybe I should go back," she said, suddenly nervous.

Feyndir turned. "What is it? You're not afraid of tents and cookfires, are you?"

"Of course not, but-"

"Aravels? They're just big wagony boat things." He was playing with her; she could see the twinkle in his large eyes. 

"Well, I've never seen one before, but no."

He took a step closer. "It can't be the elves. I know you're not scared of elves." He kissed her lightly on the lips, and she leaned into it, made it deeper.

"I thought you wanted to consider things," she said.

"I am considering things," he said, wrapping his free arm around her waist. "I'm considering so many things."

Someone coughed gently behind them, and they turned.

"I thought that was you, brother." Ryneth recognized the girl who'd escorted her to the keeper after the fighting.

"Freylen is your sister?" she asked, surprised.

"My sister, and the true mage in our family." He furrowed his brows. "Who doesn't know it's rude to sneak up on people."

Freylen rolled her eyes. "If you want privacy, you should take her into your tent."

Ryneth felt herself blush madly at the suggestion, but Feyndir only laughed. "Some other time. Keeper Maeven asked to speak with us."

"Ah. Don't let me delay you, then." She stepped out of the way, smiling. "It was nice seeing you again, Ryneth."

"You see?" Feyndir said. "Supporters." 

Freylen was not the only one who smiled when she saw Ryneth. As they passed through the Dalish encampment, several of Feyndir's people nodded at her in a friendly manner, and one even came up to thank her and gravely shake her hand "in the shemlen fashion". Still, others stood back, watching through narrowed eyes and muttering to each other, their arms folded across their chests in a universal sign of mistrust. The latter group worried her, but Feyndir strode ahead as if he couldn't see them, never letting her hand fall from his own. Whether the elves loved or hated her, he was quietly letting them know she was under his protection.

They only stopped when they reached the largest tent in the camp. 

"This is it," Feyndir said, taking a deep breath and letting it go. "Remember, you're not Dalish. You don't have to agree to anything she might ask of you."

Ryneth reached out to stroke the branching lines on his face. "I won't do it for her; I'll do it for you."

He covered her hand with his own and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her. "Let's go in."

 

Keeper Maeven sat cross-legged on a thick pile of animal skins, her thin arms resting on her knees. "Welcome, Ryneth," she said. "Please, sit. I trust you did not have too much trouble getting here?"

Ryneth glanced at Feyndir as they sat down on skins of their own. "I had an excellent guide, thank you."

The keeper nodded. "How is Hendry?"

"He's doing much better, thanks to Feyndir's magic." It unnerved her slightly that the keeper knew Hendry's name now, though there was no reason why she shouldn't. 

"And what is the mood in the village?" The keeper's eyes narrowed slightly, and Ryneth realized she was being used as a source of information.

"Um..." She could see no harm in telling the truth, what little she knew. "They lost quite a few people in their attack. The ones who returned said your people were lying in wait for them."

"Yes. They suspect someone warned us, but they've blamed the wrong person. An elf, of course. They always find an elf to blame."

Feyndir sat forward. "Who did they accuse, hahren?"

The keeper paused to wrap a shawl around her shoulders before answering. "Elrech Brighton decided it was Mira who leaked the vigilantes' plans, despite the fact that she worked in his household, and he himself didn't know the details." She shook her head. "He's foolish even for a shemlen, da'len."

Feyndir looked as if he were going to be sick. "Poor Mira," he said. "She is no more, then?"

"They ran her through with a sword as she prepared their dinner last night."

Ryneth remembered the sour-faced elf who'd packed a picnic lunch for Phinneas and her. It was easy to see why they'd suspected her, but hard to believe anyone would actually kill over a suspicion.

"She wasn't one of yours, then?" she asked, thinking how Mira had stared after her from the yard.

"Of course she was," Feyndir answered sharply. "Does that make it easier for you to accept?"

Ryneth pulled away from him, stung. 

"Mira often reported to Feyndir directly," the keeper explained, her tone soft to balance his anger. "He knew her well."

"Ir abelas. I'm sorry, rabbit." He unclenched his hands, which he'd balled into fists at the news. "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

The keeper looked at Ryneth. "Rabbit? You allow him to call you this?"

Ryneth felt as if a silverite ball had fallen into her stomach. "I...uhh..." she started, caught off her   
guard. The keeper was clearly more worldly than Feyndir, and now disapproval lined her already weathered face.

"Never mind," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "It brings me to the purpose of our meeting, anyway. Each year, our clan sends someone to the alienage in Denerim, to see whether any of our unfortunate city cousins would like to join us. This year, I have chosen Feyndir for the task."

"Me? But Lorris always makes the journey."

"Usually, yes." The keeper folded her hands in her lap. "But I feel it's time you saw more of Ferelden than forests and meadows, da'len. Besides, you now have something Lorris doesn't." She gestured at Ryneth. "A guide, if she's willing."

Ryneth understood now what Feyndir meant about the keeper wanting something from her. "I won't be of much help, I'm afraid," she said. "I've never been to Denerim, either."

Feyndir shut his eyes briefly. "She doesn't intend you to give me directions, Ryneth."

Keeper Maeven nodded. "Human cities can be dangerous for a Dalish traveling on his own. If Feyndir were in the company of a shemlen, however...."

"You don't have to do this," Feyndir reminded her.

"What if I say no?"

The keeper's eyes narrowed by the tiniest fraction. "Feyndir will go to Denerim, regardless. There are things he should see with his own eyes; don't you agree, 'rabbit'?"

Ryneth did indeed feel like a rabbit, caught in the Keeper's snare and wriggling helplessly. "In that case, it'd be my honor to accompany him," she managed.

Keeper Maeven smiled. "Clan Lutharra thanks you, Ryneth. You are a true friend of the people."


	20. Chapter 20

Feyndir arrived at the cabin just before sunrise. He was leading two horses, both outfitted in nondescript tack and carrying supplies for the journey. Sean looked at them with mild surprise.

"I didn't know the Dalish kept horses," he said.

"My clan has a few. I thought showing up in Denerim on halla might draw too much attention."

Sean laughed. "You're not wrong."

Ryneth gave her father a hug. "We'll be back in a few days," she said.

"Be careful. Both of you." He stuck out his hand, and Feyndir looked at it blankly. "Put your hand in mine, lad. There you go." They shook hands, and then Feyndir helped Ryneth onto one of the horses, and they were off.

 

They rode all day, north and east, stopping only to eat a lunch that Ryneth was pleased to see didn't include halla cheese. Sometimes they traveled cross-country, Feyndir using the sun as a guide, and sometimes they followed roads. When they were on the roads, he kept the deep hood of his cloak up at all times, and looked down whenever they passed other travelers.

"Is that really necessary?" Ryneth asked eventually. "People know Dalish exist; I don't think anyone's going to die of shock."

Feyndir shook his head. "I'm not worried about shocking them. I'm worried they'll start trouble for us."

"Most people wouldn't do that."

"Perhaps, but I'd rather not find out which ones would." He paused. "You've already put yourself at risk for me; I'll do nothing that endangers you further."

Ryneth snorted. "A trip to Denerim hardly seems dangerous after surviving a midnight battle in the forest."

Feyndir grimaced. "Don't remind me. I nearly died when I saw you run out of that cave after your brother. Literally. I was so distracted I almost took an axe in the back." He shifted in his seat, and before Ryneth knew it he was standing in his saddle. His horse plodded on, apparently accustomed to such acrobatics. "Move up."

She slid forward as far as she could, and he stepped across and sat down behind her, tying his horse's reins to the saddle strings behind him.

"That's much better," he murmured in her ear. "Why didn't I do this hours ago?"

She leaned back into his chest, and felt his heartbeat quicken. "I don't know."

 

It was nearly dark when they saw the outer walls of the capital city looming in the distance. Feyndir turned the horses off the main road, and pulled up beside a small farmhouse surrounded by wheat fields. "This farmer is a contact," he explained. "We can stay here tonight."

He slid lightly off the horse's back, and knocked on the front door. 

"Yes?" came a timid voice from within.

Feyndir coughed. "My name is Feyndir of Clan Lutharra. We're on our way to Denerim, might we-"

The door opened a crack. "Where's Lorris?"

"He's not here. The Keeper sent me in his place."

"Who's the shemlen?"

"She's...ah, a friend. A friend of the clan." He shrugged at her helplessly.

The door finally opened, and an older elven man squinted out into the dusk. "Since when does Clan Lutharra have human friends?"

"It's quite a recent development," Ryneth offered, and Feyndir chuckled.

The farmer frowned at them both. "How is my fool boy doing, then?"

"He is well, hahren. His first child was born last winter. A girl."

"Hmmph. Well, that's good." The man was clearly moved by the news, but trying not to show it. "You'll tell him I asked after him?"

Feyndir tipped his head slightly. "Of course."

"Thank you. Now, you'll be wanting to sleep in the barn, I'll wager. I know how squirrely you Dalish get in small spaces. And what about your friend? Perhaps she'd prefer more civil accommodations?"

Feyndir looked at Ryneth. "No, she'll sleep with me. In the barn."

She knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded, but she felt herself turning red from head to toe, nonetheless. The farmer noticed.

"Oh, she's that kind of friend." He held up his hands before either of them could object. "None of my business, I know. Anyway, the barn's unlocked. Help yourselves to the hayloft, if you like."

 

Feyndir stabled the horses while Ryneth climbed the steep ladder to the loft. There was a small window at the top with a view of the city, and plenty of fresh hay strewn about. She untied her bedroll and spread it, then hurried to wrap herself up in blankets before Feyndir joined her. They'd been alone together before, but never in the dark, never where sleeping together could turn into sleeping together. She didn't know whether she wanted that to happen, or not.

She heard the soft pad of his bare feet on the steps and closed her eyes, feigning sleep. He paused at the top of the ladder, and then she felt a soft whoosh of air as he unrolled his bedding beside her own. 

"You don't have to do that, you know," he said quietly.

Ryneth didn't know whether to answer or not. Her heart was beating so loudly in her ears that she wondered if he could hear it, too.

"I know you're not asleep, rabbit."

She opened her eyes slowly. Feyndir was sitting beside her, removing his foot wraps. He paused to look at her. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to, vhenan. You don't need to hide from me."

"I'm not hiding." The blankets around her mouth muffled her voice.

Feyndir smiled slightly. "What was that? I couldn't hear you through your blanket armor."

Ryneth pulled back the covers with an exasperated sigh. "I'm not hiding," she repeated sulkily.

"Good. There's no cause." He pulled his tunic over his head and laid it aside, then did the same with the shirt under it. Ryneth's breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. She watched him lay back, biting her lower lip in indecision.

"Feyndir?"

"Yes, rabbit?"

"Can I sleep beside you?"

"Of course." He held his arms out, and she shimmied over to him and laid her head on his bare shoulder. He threw a blanket over them both, and held her tightly to him beneath it. For a few minutes, neither of them said anything. Then Feyndir cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Ryneth," he said hesitantly, "you've never lain with a man, have you?"

She was glad he couldn't see the color her face turned. "No," she whispered into his neck, wanting to crawl away again in embarrassment.

He stroked her forearm gently. "Ok, then. Goodnight, rabbit."

She lay still, waiting, but he made no further move. Knowing he wasn't going to press the issue, however, she began to feel bolder.

"I might like to, though."

She almost thought she could sense him smiling in the darkness. "Ara seranna-ma, but your first time is not going to be a literal roll in the hay." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Another time, my heart. Go to sleep."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ma serannas to everyone who's bookmarked, commented, or left kudos on this work so far.   
> Mythal'enaste!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *brief mention of sexual assault in this chapter*

Feyndir and Ryneth left the horses in the barn and walked from the farm, heading out as soon as there was enough light in the sky to see. Still tired and sore from the previous day's long ride, neither of them spoke much. Back on the main road, they joined a steady stream of merchants, pilgrims, and visitors like themselves, all shuffling along toward the looming city walls. Feyndir kept his hood up and his head down as always, but they still drew the odd curious look. Ryneth couldn't figure out whether it was the flashes of Dalish clothing under his long cloak, or simply the fact that he clearly didn't want to be noticed, but many of their fellow travelers gave them a wide berth.

At last they reached the gates of Denerim. Traffic slowed to a crawl as the crowd jostled its way forward, everyone trying to get through the passage at once. To either side of the road, the King's Patrol rode back and forth on horseback, looking for troublemakers and shouting at people to stop shoving. One of them fixed Feyndir with a suspicious stare, and Ryneth's heart jumped into her throat.

"You there!" he shouted, riding over and pointing a gleaming sword in their direction, "Remove that hood!"

"Fenedhis," she heard the elf mutter, yanking it back. He stared up into the guard's face, defiant.

"A fucking Dalish," the man breathed. "Well, I'll be. What business has one of your kind in Denerim, knife-ear?"

Ryneth, seeing that Feyndir was about to say something that would get him imprisoned or worse, spoke up. 

"He's with me, serah. He's my servant."

The guard looked her over doubtfully. "How'd that happen, then?"

"He...left his clan. Got tired of the nomadic lifestyle. He works for me now." She couldn't bear to look at Feyndir as she said it.

The guard grunted. "Alright, then. But elves aren't allowed weapons in the city; he'll have to disarm."

Feyndir removed his bow and quiver, handing them over to Ryneth with a scowl.

"The dagger, too." The guard's quick eyes missed little.

Feyndir hesitated, then untied the sheath from his belt and gave that to her, as well.

"May we pass now?" he said bitterly.

The guard looked at him, but addressed Ryneth. "Your servant has an attitude, miss. We can remove that from him, too, if you like."

Ryneth grabbed Feyndir's arm. "No, no, that's all right. We'll just be on our way. Thank you." She pulled him towards the center of the crowd, as far from the guards as they could get.

"Elves are not allowed weapons?" he hissed at her when they were away. "How am I meant to defend myself, then?"

Ryneth looked around, but no one seemed to be listening. "You aren't," she said simply.

 

They made their way through the gates, and spilled onto the street beyond. 

"This way," Feyndir said, readjusting his hood so that his face disappeared once more. He reached for her hand, but she pulled it back.

"It's better if we don't," she said. "I'm sorry."

She could sense his hurt even without seeing his expression. 

"I understand. Or I'm beginning to, anyway." He led her a little way down the street, weaving in and out of the milling crowd, and over a bridge across the Drakon River. From there they walked east until they arrived at the alienage, its walls rising high before them, its entrance watched by a lone, bored-looking guard. 

"Watch yourselves in there," he said dully as they passed. "The elves will rob you blind."

"We'll be careful," Ryneth assured him. Feyndir, lost in his hood, muttered something that sounded sarcastic, but she couldn't make out the words.

Inside, he looked about despairingly. "So this is an alienage," he said, taking in the dirty, dilapidated buildings, the puddles and ruts in the street, the thin mongrel dogs hiding under rickety stairs. He shook his head. "I know most shemlen don't care for elves, but to force them to live like this...I did not expect such cruelty."

Ryneth didn't know what to say. She looked at the ground.

"Come on," he said at last, shrugging out of his cloak and folding it over one arm. "Lorris said we should find the vhenadahl tree. We can wait there for whomever might approach."

 

The tree was massive, and in its cool shade Ryneth found a wooden bench and sat down. Feyndir paced, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing up into its branches. 

"A single tree, when they could have a forest. One spot of beauty in an entire city of shemlen ugliness." He glanced at Ryneth sheepishly. "No offense."

"None taken. Do you think anyone will come back with us?" 

He shrugged. "Some years Lorris brought several, other times-" He cut off as a small boy shyly drew near, staring up at Feyndir with eyes that were wide even for an elf. 

"Hello, there." He knelt to match the child's height, and the little boy's eyes grew wider still. 

"Are you a real Dalish?" he said, tugging at the frayed corner of his tunic.

"I am. My name's Feyndir; what's yours?"

"Darek. How did you get here?"

Feyndir smiled. "I rode a long way on a horse, and then I walked for a bit."

"Oh." He thought for a moment. "Can I touch your face?"

Feyndir nodded, and the boy ran small fingers cautiously over the branching lines on his forehead, tracing them around the side of his face to his cheek. 

"Those marks are called vallaslin, da'len. We wear them to honor our Creators."

The boy looked slightly confused, but he nodded. "Do you have a halla?"

"My clan has many, yes. We-"

"Get away from him!" An elven woman with a long brown braid and a fierce expression grabbed the boy by the arm. "Go in the house, Darek." Feyndir stood up, and she turned and wagged a finger under his nose. "How dare you try and teach your heathen ways to my child?" 

Feyndir raised his hands. "Ir abelas. I didn't-"

"Maker! Speak the common tongue."

"I'm sorry," he said, frowning. "I didn't mean any harm by it."

She snorted. "You didn't mean any harm. You only meant to put foolish, romantic ideas in his head, so that one day he might run off to live in the wilderness like an animal." She threw up her hands in exasperation. "As if we don't have enough troubles without your kind bothering us." 

The woman turned and followed her son into the house, slamming its worn door behind her. Feyndir stared after her for a long moment, shocked, then walked slowly over and sat down beside Ryneth. He put his head in his hands, burying his fingers in his dark hair.

"I don't understand," he said. "These people look like elves, but they're not my people."

Ryneth rested a hand on his back. "My mother was born in an alienage like this. It's hard to imagine."

Feyndir sighed. "She was fortunate her ears were rounded, so she could leave it."

"They were rounded because my grandmother was raped by a human. And then she joined a Dalish clan that made her give up her own baby."

He looked up at her, appalled. "Creators, rabbit, I'm sorry. I didn't know." He reached for her hand, and this time she let him take it. "I wish I could tell you my clan would never behave like that, but I cannot. To be honest, I'm still not entirely certain what they intend to do about us."

They sat in dejected silence, watching the city elves go about their business. After a time, an old man came up and timidly asked whether Falon'Din was watching over his departed wife. Rather than correct his misperception that Feyndir had some sort of mystical connection to the Creators, the younger elf made up a comforting response for him. 

After that, the day passed slowly. Occasionally, someone approached with a question or a request, but none of them expressed any interest in leaving the alienage. Finally, when the sun was well on its way toward the horizon, Feyndir stood up and stretched. 

"I think we're done here," he said. "I confess, I have never been less sorry to leave a place."

Ryneth smiled sadly. "I'm sorry we won't be bringing anyone with us. Will Keeper Maeven be upset?"

Feyndir shook his head. "No, we've done all we could. We can only give the city elves the opportunity for freedom; we cannot force it upon them."


	22. Chapter 22

They were headed out of the alienage when she ran up to them. She was wringing her slender hands, her large green eyes darting about wildly.

"Serah!" she called to Feyndir, who barely recognized the word being directed at him. "Please, can I speak to you?" She curtsied low before him, her threadbare skirt scraping the dusty street.

"What is it, sister?" He put a hand on her shoulder to calm her shaking.

"Are you-" she looked around. "You're Dalish, yes? Are you leaving Denerim?"

Feyndir nodded. "We are."

The elven woman eyed Ryneth with suspicion. "And she's with you?"

"She is." He smiled slightly. "It's alright; she can be trusted."

The woman hesitated. When she spoke again, her voice was hushed. "Take me with you. Please." 

"You wish to join my clan?" Feyndir said, sounding surprised.

"I...yes. My daughter and I." She gestured, and a little elven girl emerged from an alley and ran over. She was clutching a dirty stuffed nug, her fiery hair pulled into two braids on the sides of her head. "This is Arinna, and I'm Maghen. Let's go."

Feyndir held up a hand. "Don't you want to gather your things? We could return for you in the morning, if you like."

The woman patted a small bag on her hip. "I have what I need here. We're ready to leave now."

He frowned. "Alright, I suppose that's just as well. You'll have no use for most of your shemlen possessions where we're going."

She smiled nervously, and clutched her daughter's hand. "What are we waiting for, then?"

 

Ryneth didn't like the way Maghen kept looking over her shoulder as they made their way back across the city. The elf wouldn't walk the wide avenue along the river, but insisted they travel via a twisting string of back streets and alleys, instead.

"Is she leading us into a trap?" Ryneth hissed to Feyndir finally.

"No, I don't think so. She's afraid of something, though. I wonder what."

They found out soon enough. In a garbage-strewn alley, a pair of men stepped out from the shadows. One of them, clad in velvet and obviously in charge, spoke.

"There you are, rabbit. Where do you think you're going?"

For one warped second, Ryneth thought he was addressing her.

Maghen gripped her daughter's hand more tightly. "Leave me alone."

He frowned mockingly, and took a step forward. "Why so rude? Are we not friends, you and I?"

She paled. "Our arrangement is over. Let me go."

Ryneth felt a slight tug at her waist, and realized Feyndir had quietly slipped his dagger out of its sheath and into his hand. Her heart immediately began beating faster, and her legs felt weak beneath her. 

The man tutted. "First you rob me, and then you try to sneak off with a Dalish savage? I think I'll turn you over to the guards, instead, you ungrateful, knife-eared bitch."

He snapped his fingers, and the man behind him lunged forward. He reached for Maghen, an angry snarl on his face, but he never got that far. Feyndir's dagger caught him in the throat and he stopped mid-stride. He clutched at his neck in surprise, bright red blood pouring from between his hands and soaking his tunic almost to the waist. The man in velvet cursed and drew his sword before his lackey even hit the ground.

What occurred next seemed to happen in slow motion. Later, Ryneth couldn't remember reaching for her bow, or nocking an arrow, or even drawing it. She did recall the look on the man's face, however, and the words he spoke.

"Run along, woman. Or are you really going to kill me to save a pair of murderous, thieving elves?"

She loosed the arrow.


	23. Chapter 23

They didn't stay in the farmer's hayloft on the return journey, not wanting to put him in danger if anyone came looking for them. Instead, they quietly collected the horses and travelled well into the night. Maghen and Arinna rode together, and Ryneth rode with Feyndir, sobbing noiselessly into her hands as he whispered words of comfort in her ear.

The full moon was high in the sky when they finally stopped. Feyndir built a small fire and offered his bedroll to their new companions, then joined Ryneth in hers. He wrapped his body around her protectively, holding her close until her shaking began to subside.

"I killed someone, Feyndir," she whispered, still in shock.

"You did, lethallan, and by so doing you saved all our lives."

She was silent for a moment. "Another new name? Now, of all times?"

He kissed the back of her neck, and through her grief she felt a sudden rush of desire. "Now is exactly the right time for this name."

"What does it mean, then?" She barely held in a whimper as he moved on to her shoulder, nuzzling her shirt aside.

"You don't have a word for it," he said, his breath warm on her skin. "The closest would be 'friend', but it's more than that. It means kin. It means family." He kissed her again. "It's not a word used for shemlen."

"But I am a shemlen," she reminded him softly. Suddenly the blankets felt oppressively hot.

"I don't know what you are anymore, vhenan, but you're no longer that. Not to me."

 

In the morning, the four of them shared what remained of the food Feyndir had brought. While they ate, Maghen told her story.

"Osgard - that was his name - hired me after my husband died last year. I was supposed to be his maid, but soon enough he wanted other things." She glanced at her daughter, who was ravenously devouring a chunk of brown bread. "I couldn't say no and keep my job, and I needed the money for Arinna...."

"You don't have to explain yourself," Feyndir said, his expression dark. "I'm sorry for your troubles."

Tears came to Maghen's eyes at the simple kindness, and she blinked them back. "Anyway, after a while I couldn't stand it anymore. I took some of his wife's jewelry, and I came home to intending to take Arinna and leave town. But then I saw you...."

"And you decided to become Dalish, on the spot?" Ryneth asked, incredulous.

"I...well. It seemed like you could help me."

Feyndir's eyes narrowed. "We could help you get out of Denerim alive, you mean. Now that we have, what do you intend to do?"

Maghen blushed. "I don't know, anymore. I was hoping to find a small village-"

"Where you'll likely be tracked down within the week." Feyndir crossed his arms. "They'll suspect it was you who took the jewels, and when they find the bodies they'll assume you did that, too. Do you really think the King's Patrol will just forget about an elf who killed her employer?"

Her eyes widened. "Maybe, if I go far enough...."

Ryneth shook her head. "If they can't find you themselves, they'll put a bounty on your head. Perhaps no one will ever track you down, but you'll always live with that risk. As will Arinna."

"No! I can't do that to her. I can't!" She wrung her hands, distraught at the idea.

Feyndir grinned, and it wasn't an entirely kind expression. "Then it looks like you're going to be joining my clan, after all. Andaran atish'an, sister."


	24. Chapter 24

They reached the Dalish encampment late in the day, and reported immediately to the Keeper's tent. There, the matriarch of Clan Lutharra listened with interest to Feyndir's accounting of the events in Denerim, and welcomed Maghen and Arinna warmly. She wasted no time, however, in relieving them of the "shemlen trinkets" in their possession. Maghen, hardly in a position to protest, watched disappointedly as the elderly elf tucked the stolen jewels safely away in a small chest. Shortly after, an unfamiliar mage appeared and led the pair off for a tour of their new home.

"It will not be an easy adjustment for them," Keeper Maeven remarked when they had gone.

"No," Feyndir agreed. "Maghen has no real interest in learning our ways, though she has little choice now . Arinna will find things easier, being a child and more impressionable."

The Keeper turned to Ryneth with a thoughtul frown. "As for you...well. It is not often that someone of my years and my office is surprised. To save elven lives, you put an arrow through a fellow human - a man who by his own words would have allowed you to walk away."

"As I've told you before, not every-"

"Not every human in Thedas is your people." Keeper Maeven smiled thinly. "I recall your words, child. But those you saved were not your people, either."

Ryneth remembered what Fendir had called her. Lethallan. Friend and family.

"Feyndir is my people," she said, glancing at him. He shifted uncomfortably, and she hoped she hadn't crossed a line by saying it.

The keeper arched one eyebrow. "I assure you, I would know if that were the case." She waved a hand, dismissing the topic before either of them could respond, and began again. "Feyndir, have you learned what 'rabbit' means?"

The air in Ryneth's lungs turned to ice. She suddenly remembered Osgard's words to Maghen, which she'd forgotten in her grief and their rush to escape the city. Feyndir hadn't mentioned them to her, either. Had he even noticed?

"I know now that it's a slur," he answered slowly. "A condescending word the shemlen use for elves. Something to do with the shape of our ears, I'd guess." He had noticed, then, and he'd chosen not to speak of it. Ryneth stared at the ground in front of her, her face hot with shame and regret that she hadn't told him herself.

"Indeed." Keeper Maeven looked from one of them to the other, thinking. Finally, her gaze settled on Ryneth once again. "Feyndir has seen a human city now, and returned safely with your help. Perhaps it is time for Clan Lutharra to return the favor. Would you like to see more of the Dalish, da'len?"

Ryneth hesitated, unsure what she was being offered. If she said yes, would she be asked to build an aravel, or maybe take part in a bear hunt?

The Keeper chuckled at her unease. "I'm not setting you another task, if that's what worries you. Quite the contrary." She turned to Feyndir. "We had a rider this morning from Clan Virathel. They're two days out."

He looked surprised. "They weren't due to pass through until autumn."

"Perhaps they've been troubled by shemlen." She shrugged. "At any rate, they'll be here soon, and I am giving you my permission to invite Ryneth to the gathering."

Feyndir shook his head. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, hahren."

"What kind of gathering?" Ryneth said. "Why can't I go, Feyndir?"

The keeper smiled slightly. "Dalish clans don't interact with one another very often. For safety. But when we do, we enjoy one another's company very much."

"It's a...party, of sorts," Feyndir admitted grudgingly. "But I doubt you'd enjoy it."

Ryneth was hurt. "How do you know, unless you give me the chance?"

"She's guided you through the world of shemlen," the Keeper reminded him quietly. "If you still care for her after all you've seen, then why not return the favor? Surely a Dalish celebration is less offensive than Denerim's alienage."

Ryneth could scarcely believe the Keeper was taking her side. Feyndir looked from one of them to the other, and sighed helplessly. "Very well," he said, throwing up his hands. "Attend if you must, Ryneth. It will certainly be eye-opening for you, I can promise that."

 

Outside the Keeper's tent, Freylen was waiting for them. She clapped her hands together excitedly when they emerged, Feyndir scowling and Ryneth trying to stifle a triumphant smile. 

"Did you hear?" she asked them both. "Clan Virathel is on its way! Oh Feyndir, let me get my vallaslin before they arrive. Please!"

Feyndir stared at her. "Don't be ridiculous. You've not even prepared-"

"I talked to the Keeper as soon as I found out they were coming, and I've been meditating all day. With your help, I can complete the preparations tomorrow, and the Keeper will perform the ceremony on the morning of their arrival." Freylen took a deep breath. "She's already agreed to it, if you'll give permission. Please, brother! I'm not a child anymore!"

Feyndir rubbed his temples wearily. "And what if you can't bear it, da'len? You'd have to attend with unfinished markings, or else hide in your tent in embarrassment."

Freylen crossed her arms. "What have I done wrong, that you have so little faith in me? I AM ready for this, Feyndir. I won't fail."

He studied her eager face for a long moment, considering.

"Which have you chosen?" he asked finally, defeated.

Freylen let out a tiny squeal of excitement. "Sylaise, the Hearthkeeper."

"Just like our mother's. She would be proud of you, Freylen."

She threw her arms around him. "Ma serannas," she said, tears in her voice.

Feyndir leaned down to speak into her ear, but Ryneth could just make out his words. "Mythal's blessings on you, my sister, and may the Dread Wolf never catch your scent."


	25. Chapter 25

Hendry watched through the slats on the window as his sister stepped out of the forest and into the pink light of dusk. His hands clenched at his sides as he saw her walk, smiling, down the gentle slope toward the cabin, turning once to wave goodbye to someone beyond the dark line of trees. He'd suspected as much. His memories of the battle and its aftermath were hazy, but he was certain there'd been a Dalish in their cabin, no matter how much his father denied it. He rose, clutching at his side, and went to the door.

Ryneth was just crossing the yard, but she stopped when she saw him in the open doorway. "Hendry!" she exclaimed, smiling nervously. "You're out of bed!"

Hendry grunted. "Since yesterday, yes. I'm feeling much better, and I'm seeing things much more clearly, now."

Ryneth took a step backward. "That's good...." she said, her voice trailing off as he began walking toward her.

"I saw you come out of the woods, Ryneth. Who were you waving at?" Dimly, he was aware of the barn door creaking open, of his name being called.

Ryneth reached behind her back. "Stop, Hendry," she warned, producing a bow and reaching back again for an arrow.

Hendry stared at the weapon. "That's not the bow you used to have," he breathed, taking in the strange, dark wood and elegant, twining engravings. "You whore. How many knife-ears did you fuck to get that pretty thing?"

His sister nocked a black-feathered arrow, her hands shaking. "It's not like that, Hendry. You don't understand-"

"I understand enough! You told them, didn't you? You're the reason they were waiting for us!"  
He lunged at her, and she drew the bow. For a moment he thought she'd shoot him point blank, but she hesitated. He knocked the weapon from her hands, the arrow firing harmlessly into the dirt, and swung at her.

She collapsed to the ground with a cry, and Hendry felt strong arms pulling him back.

"Let me go!" he shouted, fighting Sean's grip on him. "She got my friends killed!"

"Your friends got themselves killed, running into the woods at night to chase Dalish. And you'd be dead, too, if it wasn't for your sister."

Ryneth lay unmoving in the grass. Hendry felt some of his rage dissipate as he looked at her crumpled body, the hem of her skirt blowing softly in the evening breeze. He stopped struggling. "I think I've hurt her," he said flatly.

Sean snorted. "You punched her in the face, you idiot. Of course you hurt her." He loosened his grasp slowly, testing whether Hendry would bolt, then shoved him away and went to his daughter. Hendry watched him kneel over her, calling her name softly and patting her cheeks to bring her around. He felt terrible for hitting her, even if she was a traitor. And she was that, oh yes. A deceitful elf-lover, running around in the woods with heathen knife-eared killers-

Hendry felt his temper rising again, and took a deep breath. "You knew about this?" he asked his father, trying to keep his voice even.

Sean sighed. "You may as well know. Your sister has had a Dalish lover for some time now, Hendry. I've met him, and you've met him, too, after a fashion. He's the elf you saw in our house during your delirium."

Hendry didn't know whether he was more repulsed by the idea of a feral elf touching his sister, or the fact that his father had welcomed the savage into their home.

Sean continued. "He and Ryneth carried you out of the woods that night, and afterwards he stayed by your side, administering healing magic until you were stable enough to recover on your own."

"So he's an apostate, as well?"

"No, son." He shook his head. "Dalish mages aren't controlled by the Chantry, but that's beside the point. Feyndir saved your life, though he might wish he hadn't when he sees this." He gestured at Ryneth's face, where a bright purple bruise was forming high on her left cheek. Her eyes fluttered weakly, and she moaned.

Hendry stepped back as his sister began to regain consciousness. He didn't want to be around her when she woke up, knowing what he now knew. Nor did he particularly want to be with their father, who seemed to tacitly approve of his daughter's appalling choices. Slowly, he turned and started walking toward the barn and Molly. He wasn't sure where he was going, but anywhere had to be better than remaining where he was.

**********

"Do you think the Keeper would let me keep a fennec kit if I found one?"

Feyndir sighed. "For the fifteenth time, you are not supposed to be talking right now. And definitely not about fennecs. Your vallaslin ceremony is tomorrow, sister."

Freylen groaned. "How much can one person possibly contemplate the Creators?"

"Contemplate the Vir Tanadhal, then. Or reflect on the fall of the Dales." He couldn't help  
smirking slightly as he said it, and was glad she was walking behind him.

Freylen was quiet for a while, long enough for him to wonder if she was actually following directions for once. In the silence, he could make out the sound of falling water that meant they were nearing their destination.

"Feyndir," she said finally, catching up and giving him a sidelong look, "why were you in the Keeper's tent this morning?"

He furrowed his brows. "It doesn't concern you."

"Does it concern Ryneth?"

He glanced at her. "If you must meditate on someone's future, let it at least be your own."

"What will you do if-"

Feyndir stopped in his tracks. "Enough. One more word, and we'll head back to camp."

Freylen scowled and crossed her arms, but kept her mouth shut.

 

They walked on, and within a few minutes the path before them widened, then opened onto a wide pool of deep, clear water. A waterfall fell into it on the far side, sending up a cloud of mist that left the whole clearing damp. Perched on a ledge beside the falls, overlooking the entire site, was a massive stone wolf. 

"In you go," said Feyndir, turning away.

After a moment, he could hear Freylen wriggling out of her clothes behind him "I wish mother were here," she said, her voice muffled as she pulled something over her head.

"Ir abelas, da'len. I wish she was, too." He let out a deep breath. "Leave your things where they fall, and I'll gather them up once you're in the water."

He listened for the sound of splashing, then waited another minute to be certain before turning around. Freylen was out in the middle of the pool, her long reddish hair floating around her. She waved at him cheerfully and ducked under.

It didn't take Feyndir long to get a fire started. As he fed his sister's clothing to the flames, a sudden sense of loss washed over him. For years after their parents and Anarra died, he'd forced himself out of his blankets every morning with the thought that Freylen still needed him. He'd gone on for her; now she was ready to go on without him. The thought made his eyes sting, and he rubbed at them with the heel of one hand.

"Are you crying?" she called from the water, teasing.

He cleared his throat. "Of course not. It's the smoke."

 

When Freylen had finished her purification, Feyndir turned his head and held out the white woolen robes she would wear until the vallaslin ceremony was complete. She stepped out of the water and into them with a contented sigh, fastening the toggles down the side before turning around.

"How do I look?" she said, waving her arms about inside the too-long sleeves before laughing and rolling them up.

Feyndir moved a damp clump of her hair aside and fastened the high collar in place. 

"You look beautiful." He frowned. "I hope you are prepared for tomorrow. You know I will not be allowed to be there."

Freylen took his hand. "You are always with me, brother. And you always will be, wherever I go." She embraced him, and he held her tightly in return, preparing himself to let her go.


	26. Chapter 26

Ryneth picked her way slowly through the forest, trying not to rip her good blue dress. The left side of her face still throbbed, and she knew it looked even worse than it felt. Maker take it, though, she was going to a party.

She saw the hart first, the same enormous white creature the Keeper had been riding when they met. Today, though, it had ribbons of green and gold twined festively about its antlers, and its saddle blanket was trimmed in tiny, jingling bells. She put a hand over her mouth at the sight of it, stifling a tiny gasp of excitement.

At the sound, Feyndir emerged from behind the great beast, and Ryneth gasped a second time. She'd never seen him in anything other than his usual green tunic; it had never even crossed her mind that he owned other clothing, let alone anything so fine as what he now wore.

Feyndir's knee-length jacket was the same deep blue as his eyes, close-fitting and high-necked in the elven style, its narrow sleeves tapering to points midway down the backs of his hands. Wide diagonal lines crossed the front to meet in the middle of his chest, where a series of intricate black fastenings buttoned from his collarbone to his waist. Below that, the coat hung open, revealing black leather trousers and footwraps in the signature Dalish herringbone pattern. A thin gold chain draped in scallops along the length of his right ear, held in place by three small cuffs along the upper helix.

Contrasting the sophistication of his clothing, Feyndir's hair had been arranged in a style that could only be described as fearsome. Though it still hung loose to his shoulders in the back, the top of it had been styled into an intertwining maze of various braids, banded together in such a way that they formed a thick rope down the center of his head. Ryneth had no doubt that the visual effect, combined with the dark lines of his vallaslin, would have sent a thrill of terror through the bravest shemlen warrior. It thrilled her, too, though in an entirely different way.

"Creators, rabbit, what happened to your face?" He was full of concern for her, this terrifying prince of the forest. 

"What happened to your...everything?" she breathed, looking at him in amazement.

He smiled slightly, and suddenly he was her Feyndir again. "My sister insisted," he said. "I think it a bit much, but...." He touched her face gently, and she winced. "Vhenan, who did this?"

She sighed. "My brother knows about us. This is how he took the news."

Feyndir's face darkened. "And where is he now?" he said, his voice menacing as a roll of thunder.

Ryneth shook her head. "He left right after. My father and I haven't seen him since."

"That was wise of him," he said through clenched teeth. "Will he tell others?"

Ryneth was taken aback. "No. I mean...no. I don't think so."

"I hope you're right." He closed his eyes and rubbed his hands together. "I will heal this; don't worry."

She stood perfectly still, allowing his magic to do its work. He pressed his hands to her bruised face for a long moment, the familiar warmth and gentle tingling reminding her of the day they'd met. Then, she'd been frightened by his touch, but now she couldn't help wondering what that soft glow would feel like in other places.

He drew back, and studied her visage. 

"Hmm. The swelling is lessened, but now your whole face is red."

Ryneth looked away. "Your hands were warm. That must have done it."

"Ah." He looked down at her dress. "This is what you wore to dinner at Elrech's house, that time you refused to eat halla and ran out of the room. I finally get to see it with my own eyes."

Ryneth's mouth fell open. "I never realized you'd collected such detailed information about me. Did your clan really need to know all that?"

He smirked. "No. I needed to know it. I wanted to know it." 

"So you'd know if you could trust me?"

"Sure, let's go with that." He was laughing at her now, but not unkindly. "The dress is beautiful, Ryneth, but I'm afraid you cannot wear it."

She looked down, examining her front. "What? Why not?"

Feyndir turned serious. "Because the Keeper doesn't want you to. She wants to keep your presence...well, not a secret, exactly. But she doesn't want you be...distractingly shemlen." He held up his hands defensively. "Her words, not mine."

Ryneth frowned. "But I don't have anything else."

"It's alright. Ride with me."

He laced his fingers together, and boosted Ryneth onto the hart's broad back. It looked around at her with wide eyes, seeming to sense she was different than its usual riders, and she patted its neck reassuringly. Then Feyndir swung up behind her, and they were off. 

 

The hart's long legs carried them swiftly through the forest, but the ground was so far away that Ryneth found herself gripping the saddle horn with white knuckles. Feyndir noticed and shifted the reins to one hand, holding her tightly about the waist with the other.

"I won't let you fall, vhenan. Relax."

She let go of the saddle and held onto his arm. "This is amazing, Feyndir. How did you get the Keeper to loan you this creature?"

"We need it. We're going for a long ride, right after we sort out your clothing."

"Why not horses, then?"

He shook his head. "Horses are for hiding amongst humans. I would have brought halla, but...well. This is the next best thing."

They pulled to a stop near the ledge where Ryneth had once fallen, and Feyndir helped her down.

"This way," he said, hopping off the crumbled ledge and onto the one below.

Ryneth followed, her dress puffing out around her as she jumped. "Why are we going back to the cave?"

Feyndir smiled and motioned toward the narrow entrance, easy enough to locate in the light of day. "I'll wait out here."

Ryneth gave him a suspicious look as she passed, bunching her skirt together in front of her to fit it through the cave's mouth. Inside, she traveled slowly around the bend, giving her eyes time to adjust to the dim light. She came out into the main room and blinked. Thin rays of light filtered into the chamber through the ceiling cracks, illuminating the woolen blanket spread out before her. Lying upon it, arranged neatly beside one another, were all the pieces of a Dalish woman's ensemble.

Like Feyndir's clothing, it was meant for a special occasion. No rough green tunic and fur pauldrons, this. The trousers were of a deep, plum-colored velvet; the flowing, sleeveless dress to be worn over them was of lilac silk. Like Feyndir's jacket, the dress had a high collar, but it also had a keyhole opening in the back from shoulders to waist. Ryneth raised an eyebrow at that feature as she held it against her body, hoping she would actually be able to fit into something designed for an elf.

Fortunately, Feyndir had chosen well. The pants laced up at the sides, and though Ryneth had to leave a wide gap, she was able to make them work on her human frame. The dress itself was meant to be loose fitting, so on her it was merely less so. Rather considerably less so; it pulled across her breasts in a way that made her self-conscious, but there was nothing to be done about it. She sat down on the blanket to address the suede footwraps.

"How are you managing?" he called a few minutes later, when she still had not emerged from the cave. 

"Come in," she said, standing up. "I need help."

He entered slowly, his eyes averted in case she wasn't decent. As he let them travel slowly up her body, however, they widened in appreciation. "You...Mythal's mercy. You look incredible."

"Things are a bit tight," she said uncertainly.

"Things are a bit tight in the right places," he said, resting his hands on her hips and fingering the skin between her laces. She sighed, and he took the opportunity to kiss her deeply, his tongue flicking lightly across her open lips and into her mouth. 

"If we didn't have places to be, I'd help you out of these clothes rather than into them," he breathed, reaching around to slip one hand inside the back of her dress. His fingers met the cloth of her breast band, and he stopped.

"What's this?"

Ryneth turned scarlet. "You know what it is."

Feyndir frowned. "Truly, rabbit, I don't. Why are you binding yourself? Do you always do this?"

Ryneth was at a loss for words. "I...of course. All women do."

"Dalish women don't."

"Dalish women have...less to handle."

He grinned, and reached around with the other hand. "I like more to handle." She felt him working the tie, and then the release as it came apart. He pulled the strip of fabric out through the hole, and let it drop to the floor. "Much better," he said, stepping back to look at her.

Ryneth fought the urge to cross her arms in front of her. "I can't go out like this."

Feyndir cocked his head to one side, causing his ear chain to sway slightly. "Perhaps you're right. I knew bringing you to this gathering would be a bad idea; you can just put your own dress back on, and I'll take you ho-"

Ryneth punched him lightly in the arm. "Shut up and help me with these foot wraps, elf."


	27. Chapter 27

After Feyndir had finished wrapping Ryneth's feet, he began braiding her hair in a style similar to his own. 

"How do you even know how to do this?" she asked as his fingers moved expertly through her hair. 

"Did you think someone else did my hair?" He laughed. "Besides, I raised Freylen from the age of twelve. Elven girls like elaborate braids, so I learned how to create them."

"You're a good brother," Ryneth said, staring at the cave wall. She could see Hendry's blood there still, dull red where Feyndir had leaned after healing him. She didn't want to think about her own sibling. "How is Freylen today?"

Feyndir paused. "I don't know. She is receiving her vallaslin ask we speak; I hope she will be able to endure it."

"Is it very painful?"

Feyndir worked through a tangle, and she winced. "It is, vhenan. And no one may offer her elfroot, or healing magic, or even the comfort of their presence until it is completed. That is why I am not with her."

"You must be very worried."

He finished the final braid, and tied it off with a thin strip of leather. "I am worried she'll be disappointed if she fails in the first attempt. Some elves do, and everyone tends to remember which ones. I don't want that for her."

She turned to face him. "Did you fail the first time?"

"Of course not." He raised one eyebrow. "I'm extremely resilient."

She placed a hand over the dark lines on his cheek. "Good. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you, Feyndir."

He drew her hand from his face and kissed it. "Today is not for talk like that, rabbit."

 

They left the cave, squinting into the brighter shade of the forest, and Feyndir placed Ryneth's boots in in the hart's saddlebag. 

"In case you need them later, tenderfoot," he said, boosting her into the high saddle once more. It felt delicious to be riding with her toes out, feeling the breeze and the hart's soft fur brushing against them. She wiggled her feet happily as they turned and rode north, and Feyndir put his hands through the back of her dress and let them wander until they were in the front.

"Happy you aren't wearing a band now?" he murmured in her ear as he carressed her.

"Mmmhm." It was all she could manage.

The forest around them thinned gradually. Eventually, Ryneth caught sight of a flash of white through the trees. A halla, with a rider on its back. Feyndir withdrew his hands and waved, and his clansman nodded in return.

There were more of them soon, all headed in the same direction. 

"Almost there," Feyndir promised.

The trees ended abruptly at the edge of a sharp rise, and Feyndir pulled back on the reins. The hart stopped, but the halla riders continued on, leaping the jutting ridge as if it weren't there. Feyndir pointed down into the vast clearing before them.

Below, an enormous aravel rolled slowly across the plain, the tips of its blood red sails level with the treetops beyond. Around it bunched at least a dozen smaller landships, with Dalish travelling alongside both on foot and by halla.

Ryneth couldn't stop the shiver that ran through her. As a child growing up in the Marches, her parents had often cautioned her when she went out to play, saying, "Always keep one eye on the horizon: if ever you see red sails, run in the other direction."

"Clan Virathel," Feyndir said. "Shall we ride out to meet them?"

Apparently it was a rhetorical question, because he didn't wait for her answer. Instead, he dug his bare heels into their mount's sides, and it started down the slope at a run, letting out an enormous honking bellow as it went. Ryneth hung on to Feyndir's arms for dear life, not sure whether she was more frightened of falling off the beast, or of the caravans they were rapidly approaching.

When they drew close enough that they were in shadow of the largest aravel, Feyndir turned the hart's head to follow alongside the procession and slowed. Elves from both clans surrounded them, calling out to one another and shouting excitedly when they recognized a familiar face. A young woman squealed and leapt from one of the smaller aravels onto a halla, its rider immediately turning it toward the forest at a run. 

"Lovers reunited," Feyndir explained with a laugh, as if it wasn't obvious.

Someone pulled up alongside them. "Feyndir, friend, who is this lovely woman?" The red-haired elf was crouched on his mount's back as if he expected to spring off at any second. 

"Ryneth, this is Farril. He was my clansman before he married into Virathel last year."

"Aneth ara, Ryneth." Farril stood on the trotting halla and offered her his hand, but then hastily withdrew it.

"Fenedhis," he whispered, sitting down. "She's a shem."

Ryneth felt Feyndir's grip about her waist tighten. "It's alright," he told the other Dalish. "My keeper will explain to yours when you reach camp."

Farril scowled. "She'll explain what? That Clan Lutharra has lost its path?" He pulled up and fell back before Feyndir could respond, disappearing into the crowd behind them.

"Don't mind him," Feyndir said, but she noticed that he didn't ease his hold on her. Instead, he urged the hart faster, catching up with Atharil ahead of them.

"Lethallin!" he called as they drew near. "How is my sister?"

Atharil turned, and Ryneth saw that he had hawk's feathers tied in his pale hair, trailing down one side of his face all the way to his chest. The soft browns nearly matched his copper-colored tunic,   
which had flowing sleeves that brushed his legs as he rode.

"She was still with the Keeper when I left camp." He nodded at Ryneth. "Aneth ara."

"Aneth ara, Atharil," she returned. She hoped the use of his language wouldn't offend him, and was relieved when he smiled.

"Has Feyndir told you how beautiful you look, yet? Dalish clothing suits you."

Ryneth was taken aback by his sudden charm. "Thank you," she said, looking at him curiously.

He bowed slightly, one hand over his heart. "Ma nuvenin."

"Well," Feyndir said as they picked up the pace and rode on again, "you may not be very popular with Clan Virathel yet, but you're making excellent progress with Lutharra. I never thought I'd see the day Atharil flirted with a human."

Ryneth blushed. "It was just a compliment. Besides, why does it matter what anyone thinks of me?"

Feyndir leaned down and kissed the exposed tip of her shoulder. "You're right, of course. Forget I mentioned it."


	28. Chapter 28

It was afternoon by the time they reached the encampment, which was already in a frenzy of activity. Not everyone had ridden out to meet their guests, and those who'd stayed behind had been busy preparing a feast. Nearly every type of wild game imaginable turned on countless spits, and thick soups bubbled in massive pots. Underneath it all, Ryneth could also smell the faint but distinct aroma of halla cheese.

Feyndir wasted no time sliding off the hart's broad back. He helped Ryneth down, grabbed her boots from the saddlebag, then slapped the animal's flank. It grunted as it lumbered off.

"It'll return to the halla keeper," he explained. "Come, I need to see Freylen."

He led her through a maze of tents, past groups of Dalish in finery that made Ryneth want to stop and stare. A few of them pointed her out as she passed, and she saw them turn their faces to whisper into the long ears of their neighbors. She wondered what they were saying, and whether she would even want to know.

"Wait here," Feyndir said finally, stopping in front of a tent whose entrance was painted with small pink and green spirals. He slipped inside before she could protest, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the bustling camp. Suddenly, she could vividly imagine an arrow flying out of nowhere to strike her in the chest, and she crossed her arms nervously at the thought. 

A group of children raced by then, giggling with excitement, and one of them waved to her. Ryneth waved back instinctively, though it took her a minute to realize that the girl was Arinna. Already, she was so changed from the dirty, frightened creature they'd met in the alienage. It filled Ryneth with pride to think that she'd played a part in that, and she smiled.

A few minutes later Feyndir emerged from the tent, also smiling. "The vallaslin was completed," he said, his relief palpable. "My sister is a woman. I've hastened her recovery somewhat, but she's going to rest a while longer. She'll join us later."

Ryneth kissed his cheek, delighted to see him so happy. "I'm so glad to hear it. What should we do now, then?"

He raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Do you want my honest answer, rabbit?"

She nodded, suddenly shy.

He offered her his arm. "Well then, I think we should have something to eat. I'm starving."

She groaned audibly, and slipped her hand around his elbow. He patted it lightly, smirking.

"Patience, vhenan. We've the whole evening ahead of us."

 

Ryneth had never eaten bear meat before, nor had she ever had a soup that featured edible tree bark and some type of caterpillar as its main ingredients. The former turned out to be delicious; the latter caused her to pull such a face that Feyndir nearly fell off his seat with laughter. 

"This is even worse than halla cheese," she coughed, handing it to him.

"How do you know? You refused to try the cheese."

She took a deep drink of water. "It tastes worse than the cheese smells. I think I've figured out why elves are thin."

Feyndir feigned offense. "This is a seasonal delicacy, I'll have you know." He finished off the bowl while she looked in the opposite direction, one hand clamped over her mouth in disgust. When he was done, he stood up. 

"Come on. I need to keep an eye on the games for a while, just in case anyone requires the attention of a second-rate healer."

"There are games?" Ryneth asked, as they headed toward the edge of the encampment. 

"Competitions, really. Races, tests of skill, that sort of thi-"

"I will end you!" The shout came from somewhere ahead of them, and Feyndir rushed toward it. Shocked, Ryneth followed him, pushing through a small crowd of onlookers. She got to the front just in time to see him restraining a young woman with a dagger. Her adversary, face bleeding from a jagged cut across one cheek, was being held back by another elf.

"Harellan!" shouted the one with the weapon. "You cheated!"

"Why would I?" the other spat. "The way you throw, you couldn't hit the broad side of a druffalo!"

"Enough." There was fury on Feyndir's face, but his voice was strangely calm as he twisted the girl's wrist, forcing her to drop the blade. "Marriel, to your tent. I'll send our First around to decide what to do with you."

The elf holding the other girl nodded at him. "Selara, I will accompany you back to our aravels."

The fight was over as quickly as it had begun. Feyndir retrieved the dagger and stuck it in his own belt before returning to Ryneth, looking slightly embarrassed.

"My people have never accepted defeat easily," he joked darkly. "That probably won't be the only scuffle you'll see tonight." He looked over his shoulder, then back at her. "Would you be all right on your own a few minutes?"

Ryneth nodded, pretending more confidence than she felt. "Keep the peace, Feyndir. I'll walk about and watch some of the games until you return."

He leaned down slightly and kissed her cheek, using the opportunity to speak softly in her ear. "It's death to harm a guest in camp, rabbit. You'll be safe in my absence, I promise."

 

Despite Feyndir's assurances, Ryneth felt herself vulnerable as soon as he left her side. The Dalish might have been forbidden from outright attacking her, but a fair number of them felt free to stare with open hostility as she passed. She did her best to avoid their gazes, trying to focus on the various contests taking place around the camp's perimeter, instead.

She stopped in front of one such event, watching in awe as two elves, one from each clan, raced to the top of a towering pine to claim a strip of cloth. They moved almost as quickly vertically as if they were running, and the branches barely trembled at their passing. One of them stepped on the other's hand as they climbed, and seconds later was repaid with an elbow to the ribs. Neither of these moves was against the rules, apparently, despite the fact that they were at least forty feet off the ground and still moving higher. If this was the way the Dalish played, it was no wonder they were such fearsome fighters.

"Enjoying yourself, da'len?" Keeper Maeven had come up beside her without Ryneth noticing, and she jumped, startled.

"Um, yes. Thank you."

The Keeper's eyes slid thoughtfully over Ryneth's outfit. "I'm not sure I succeeded in making you less conspicuous. That is certainly not the way that dress should fit."

Ryneth laughed weakly. "Feyndir thinks it looks well."

"No doubt he does." The Keeper glanced up, where the elf from Clan Lutharra was waving the cloth triumphantly at the top of the tree, and nodded approvingly. "I'll be brief, child. After this night, I want you to attend another party. One to which you've already been invited."

It took Ryneth a moment to register what the Keeper meant. She'd been so busy lately that she'd nearly forgotten about the dress Phinneas had sent her, and his promise of an occasion to which it might be worn.

"Oh, I don't know..." she began. The last thing she wanted was to spend an evening fending off Phinneas's advances, especially knowing what his family had done to poor Mira.

The older woman shook her head. "You know as well as I do that Elrech and his son want my clan out of these woods. They've been planning something to that end for a while now, and I need to know what."

Vaguely, Ryneth remembered Phinneas telling her that there were better ways of dealing with knife-ears than vigilantism. 

"What makes you think they'll tell me?"

The Keeper gave her a shrewd look. "You're an attractive woman, and Phinneas Brighton has his heart set on making you his wife. If you are attentive to him, I think he would tell you anything."

Ryneth felt slightly ill at the thought. "And what about Feyndir?"

"Feyndir places a high value on the clan's safety, as do I. He will understand, if you choose to tell him."

"If I choose to tell him...." Ryneth repeated, incredulous. "Tell me, Keeper; when exactly did I become your agent?"

Keeper Maeven chuckled. "Don't be silly. You're not even an elf; how could you possibly be a Dalish agent?"


	29. Chapter 29

At a nearby table, some of Feyndir's clansmen were distributing drinks. Judging by the size of the crowd gathered around, Ryneth assumed they were alcoholic, which was exactly what she wanted after her disconcerting conversation with the Keeper. Ignoring some raised eyebrows and a couple of disgusted noises, she maneuvered herself slowly to the front of the messy queue.

"What's in this?" she asked the freckled young Dalish who handed her a mug. The girl stared at Ryneth's ears a moment before answering, but her response seemed friendly enough. 

"It's a wine of sorts, made from berries."

Ryneth sniffed the deep purple liquid. "Sounds perfect. Ma serannas."

"Ma nuvenin?" the girl answered, her surprise turning the statement into a question.

Ryneth walked on, sipping the wine as she wandered, stopping now and then to watch a contest. Among others, she saw an obstacle course that involved dodging fireballs thrown by a mage, and a duel with blunted swords that somehow still ended with one participant curled up on the ground in agony. Taking it all in, she wondered whether Feyndir would ever find time to return to her. The thought was discouraging, and she drained the rest of her drink in a single gulp. Better.

And then, at the far end of the camp, Ryneth saw something that piqued her curiosity. Set apart from the other games and slightly concealed amongst the trees, two parallel rows of elves were forming. She started toward them, the ground wavering slightly before her. The wine had tasted sweet, but it obviously had some kick to it.

"Predator or prey, shem?" 

"What?" Ryneth stared at the elf, trying to force her eyes to focus properly. He frowned, wrinkling his bow-and-arrow vallaslin.

"For the hunt. Which are you?"

She had no idea what he was talking about. 

He shook his head. "You're the one Feyndir calls 'rabbit', yeah? That sounds like prey to me." He handed her something. "Andruil enaste."

He walked off, and Ryneth examined what he'd given her. It was a mask, made to cover only the top half of the face, and finished in soft fur. A rabbit mask.

"Andraste's flaming knickers," she muttered a little too loudly. "What's this for?"

She looked around, and saw she wasn't the only one with a face covering. All the Dalish had them, in fact, though they weren't all the same. Those in the rear line were wolves, bears, and foxes; the row closer to the edge of the woods wore the faces of rabbits and deer. Uncertainly, Ryneth joined the latter.

A murmur immediately arose from some of those behind her. 

"Well, my quarry has arrived," she heard one of them say. "When will I ever get another chance like this?"

His companion snorted. "She's all yours. I prefer my pursuits to last longer than thirty seconds."

They started to laugh, but cut off suddenly as the elf who'd handed Ryneth the mask walked out in front of the lines. 

"Hunters and hunted," he began, speaking in a loud voice so as to be heard by all those assembled, "tonight, we honor Andruil with a chase. May the goddess bless you with swift feet, keen eyes, and -"

Ryneth felt a hand on her arm.

"By the Creators, rabbit!" It was Feyndir, his eyes wide with surprise. "What are you doing?"

"It's some kind of race, I think," she said, hoping he wouldn't notice the slur in her speech.

"I know what it is," he said, removing her mask. "But you clearly do not. Come with me." He took her hand and started to lead her away.

She pulled it back. "No. I want to do this."

His face darkened, and he leaned in to sniff her. "Are you drunk?"

She didn't answer him.

"Let her be, Feyndir!" called one of the bears cheerfully. "Better yet, grab a mask and chase her yourself!"

Feyndir frowned. "If I thought you knew what you were doing, it would be different...."

"-and the prey will have a five minute head start, beginning...NOW." The elf with the bow on his face stepped aside quickly as the front row surged forward, disappearing into the darkening forest with shouts and shrieks of excitement. 

Making use of the moment's distraction, Feyndir swept Ryneth into his arms. She protested at first, trying to wriggle out of his arms, but he only held her more tightly. The row of waiting hunters shouted good-natured jabs after him as he carted her off, back toward the tents at the encampment's edge.

"We need to find you some strong Antivan coffee," he grunted. "And then I need to explain some things to you."

 

Atharil moved through the canopy carelessly, letting his feet shake the boughs and announce his presence. He was usually a silent hunter, but tonight he wanted to be heard, and he was. He smiled as the prey below him scattered further into the night forest, and as they did he listened intently to their footsteps for the signs he was seeking. 

There. One of them stopped before she was tired, hesitated, doubled back. She didn't want him to lose her trail. He smiled to himself; there was no danger of that.

He pursued her carefully, pressing her to run at times, holding back when she became too winded. He wanted her tired, but not exhausted. He soon realized she hadn't the stamina of a hunter or a scout; perhaps the girl was a craftswoman, then, or even a mage.

Eventually, as the night thickened and his quarry started to slow, Atharil began to herd her. He moved quietly to one side of her and then the other, making certain that a twig snapped or a branch creaked at the right moment to keep her moving in the direction he wanted. There was a mossy grove nearby, and as she approached it he dropped silently to the ground behind her and followed.

She stepped onto the soft ground with a small sigh, her bare toes relaxing into the cool, spongy vegetation. She was clearly weary, not even glancing around to check for her pursuer. Atharil stilled his breath, and closed in.

He swept her legs out from under her before she even realized he was upon her, catching her in his arms as she fell back toward the earth. She gasped, chestnut hair streaming out behind her, but her face was still concealed behind a speckled fawn's mask.

"I have you," he told her, his heart racing in his chest. "Will you submit to me?"

"I will, Atharil," she said, knowing him despite the fox mask he wore. Her voice was so familiar it startled him. Gently, he laid her down on her back and reached toward her face, but she stopped him.

"You'll dishonor the goddess," she told him, but it no longer mattered. He'd heard enough to recognize her, too.

"Feyndir is going to kill me," he whispered in her ear as he bent to kiss her neck, covering her body with his under the light of a waxing moon.


	30. Chapter 30

"I tried to warn you this might happen."

Ryneth took a long sip of her coffee, grimacing at the bitterness. "That I might accidently try to join an elven orgy? I think I would remember if you had."

Feyndir frowned. "That some of our cultural differences might become glaring tonight. And it's not an orgy, it's a religious rite that happens to involve sex. Usually."

She shifted on the log they shared, turning to face him. "Have you ever participated in this rite?"

He studied the ground for a moment before returning her gaze. "Why are you asking me that, rabbit?"

"Because people don't normally go around-"

"People? What people?" He shook his head. "My people are the Dalish, and I won't apologize for our ways."

"I wasn't asking you to apologize." A few heads turned in their direction, and she realized her voice was raised. 

He scowled. "Then what do you want from me? Details?"

She shrank away from him, feeling tears spring up in the corners of her eyes.

"Ryneth..." he ran his hands over the braids on top of his head, frustrated. "Why did the Keeper insist on this?"

"Because I needed to see it," she answered dully. "Just like you needed to see Denerim."

Feyndir was silent for a long while. "Twice," he said finally. "In answer to your question."

"It doesn't matter." And, strangely, it didn't. She set her drink aside and took his hand, wrapping his long fingers over her shorter ones. "So...tell me more about this Andruil."

He smiled faintly. "I can do better than that."

 

There was a wide depression in the ground beyond the aravels, forming a natural amphitheater. One of the signature red sails from an aravel had been suspended from two trees near the rear of it, and Dalish from both clans were gathering to sit on the grassy slope in front.

"I didn't realize there'd be a play," Ryneth said as they settled near the outer edge.

"It's mostly for the children, to be honest." Feyndir wrapped an arm around her waist. "But since you asked about Andruil, I thought you might enjoy hearing about all the Creators." He looked at her suddenly. "This won't offend your Maker, will it?"

Ryneth blinked. "I've no idea. I don't spend all that much time thinking about him, really."

"Oh." He seemed surprised. "My people think about our gods a great deal."

"I can see that," she teased, tracing his vallaslin with one finger. "Am I finally going to learn about this Mythal of yours, too?"

"Of course," he said, casually catching her wrist and running the tip of his tongue across her open palm. "Though I have to warn you, I'll be disappearing for a bit near the end of the performance."

She struggled to focus on his words past a sudden flush of heat. "What? Why?"

He shrugged. "I may or may not have a small role to play. You'll see."

 

Before they began, the Firsts of each clan called all the children to come sit at the front. Ryneth glimpsed Arinna amongst those who moved forward, still with her gaggle of new friends, and pointed the girl out to Feyndir. 

"You're sweet to take notice of the child, vhenan," he said, a softness in his voice.

She smiled. "How is Maghen adjusting? I haven't seen her today."

Feyndir grimaced. "Not as well. She spends most of her time in her tent, and has made no preparations toward receiving her vallaslin. The Keeper has been patient, but eventually she will have to embrace this life or leave."

"It would be a shame if Arinna had to go. She seems happy here."

Feyndir gave her a sidelong glance. "Oh, Arinna's not going anywhere. She's Dalish now."

"But if her mother leaves...."

"Clan Lutharra protects its children." He frowned. "Hopefully it will not come to that, though."

Ryneth started to say more, but just then the play started with a flash of lightning overhead, cast from the shadows by one of the mages. She listened as Lutharra's First, a young man named Tirsas, recited the tale of Elgar'nan the All-Father, Eldest of the Sun. At the appropriate moment, an elf representing the deity emerged from behind the makeshift curtain, dressed in robes of gold, fire leaping up from his hands.

"This is a little cheesy," Ryneth whispered.

"Perhaps. But it's brilliant if you're a seven-year-old Dalish child. And this performance is primarily a teaching tool, after all." 

Elgar'nan's story flowed into Mythal's then, and after that came tales of Falon'din and his twin brother, Dirthamen. Each god and goddess took their turn on the stage, all of them accompanied by some magical effect that drew small gasps of appreciation from the crowd.

Ryneth was starting to wonder whether she should be taking notes when they heard footsteps behind them.

"Freylen!" Feyndir's face lit up at his sister's approach. "And you've found Atharil, I see."

"He found me, actually," she said as they sat down, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.

Atharil looked uncomfortable. "We found each other. Mutually."

"No matter." Feyndir peered at Freylen's face in the darkness, examining the spiraling blue lines that encircled her left eye. "How are you feeling, sister? Any pain?"

"I'm fine, Feyndir. Stop worrying." She motioned toward the performers. "Shouldn't you be getting ready, anyway?"

He nodded. "I was just about to go." 

"Good, I'll go with you. They can always use another mage for the grand finale." 

Feyndir gave Ryneth's hand a squeeze. "I'll find you when it's over, rabbit." Then he and Freylen were gone, taking a circuitous route to reach the area behind the sail.

In their absence, Atharil cleared his throat nervously. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but hesitated. "Ryneth," he managed finally, "I was...unkind to you when we met, and I caused problems for you and Feyndir, as I'm sure you've guessed. It was wrong, and I'm sorry."

She laid a hand on his. "Tel'abelas, Atharil. You were trying to protect your friend; I cannot fault you for that."

The pale elf shook his head. "You know you've become a strange creature, don't you? Here you sit amongst the People, wearing our clothes, speaking to me in my own tongue...I don't know what to make of you. No one does, anymore."

Ryneth smiled faintly. "I don't know what to make of myself, sometimes."


	31. Chapter 31

Atharil didn't stay long, explaining that he already knew the stories of the Creators inside out, and he was too tired to sit through them again. Ryneth didn't doubt the truth of his words; the dark circles under his eyes and the hunch in his shoulders bespoke his weariness, and yet she sensed a weight upon him that was not purely physical. She wondered whether his past behavior toward her was still troubling him, but could think of no reason why it should.

When he'd gone, slipping off into the darkness as soundless as a cat, Ryneth turned her attention back to the play. Or tried to, anyway. Her view was obstructed now by an unusually large hat, perched on the head of someone who hadn't been there a moment ago. At least, she didn't think he'd been there. It was hard to remember, somehow.

"Excuse me," she whispered to the giant hat, meaning to ask whether its owner might kindly remove it.

"Seduction in shadow, seeking, stalking...then surprised. Outfoxed by a fawn."

"Um, what?" 

"Your friend. 'I didn't expect her, not her, oh Creators, but the scent of her hair, her soft skin...I can't stop myself...Feyndir is going to kill me.'"

Wide-eyed, Ryneth scooted forward until she was beside the stranger. "Are you talking about Atharil?" she said, ducking her head to peer under his wide brim. What she glimpsed beneath caused her to pull back in alarm. The boy was pale as death, his cheeks sunken and his watery blue eyes half-hidden behind locks of lank blond hair. "Are you...are you feeling all right?"

"Wary, weary, wandering two worlds. Walking where willows wail, but they don't weep for you. You're neither and both." He paused a moment, then brightened. "Like me."

"I...I suppose I am," she agreed. "You're human, too. How did you come to be here?"

"Everyone's asleep at Skyhold."

His answer, if it could even be called that, made no sense to her. The Inquisition's headquarters was at least a hundred miles away, high up in the Frostback Mountains. It wasn't possible that this gaunt-looking boy had been there anytime recently. Still, she felt no desire to argue with him. There was something calming about his presence, something that made her want to accept whatever he said as the truth.

"You don't have to choose," he continued, oblivious to her confusion. "He loves you as you are, and he remembers what you said. 'Feyndir is my people.' He wants that to be true."

Ryneth felt relief wash over her, as if she'd been holding her breath for a long time and could suddenly breathe again. She looked away, watching as Ghilan'nain produced a halla from a puff of smoke, and smiled. When she turned back, whoever had been sitting beside her was gone. She was almost certain someone had been there, though, even if she couldn't quite recall the person's face.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ahem* This chapter is somewhat sexually explicit.

As Ghilan'nain exited, taking the halla with her, Tirsas reappeared. "Have you enjoyed learning of our Creators, da'len?" he asked. There was nervous laughter at this from some of the older children, and the adults in the audience exchanged knowing smirks. Ryneth, though, was merely confused. Feyndir had said he'd have some role in the play, but she hadn't seen him. And now it was over.

"You forgot one!" someone shouted from the back. 

Tirsas counted off the deities on his fingers. "Ah, so I have," he said when he was finished. "But perhaps we shouldn't mention him, eh? A thin streak of lightning flashed overhead as he said it, and Ryneth felt a tingle creep up her spine. "The People call him the Lord of Tricksters, He Who Hunts Alone, Bringer of Nightmares. In the Great Betrayal, he deceived and sealed away all the other Creators; now he alone roams the land of the living. Who remembers his name?" He paused dramatically. "Who dares speak it?"

The assembled children elbowed each other, whispering and egging each other on until one of them finally spoke up.

"Fen'Harel, hahren." The boy's voice cracked as he said it.

Tirsas pretended he hadn't heard. "What?" he said, raising a hand to his pointed ear.

"Fen'Harel!"

At once, all the torches went out. An icy blast of wind swept across the amphitheater, and even though Ryneth knew it was the work of the mages, she jumped to her feet. She could sense she wasn't the only one. 

Tirsas's voice rang out in the darkness. "The Dread Wolf has caught our scent, da'len! Run home before he catches you!"

More lightning crackled overhead, and the accompanying thunder shook the earth beneath Ryneth's feet. By its fleeting, purple light, she could see that the sail was gone. A single figure stood in its place, his head hooded in a wolfskin that draped over his bare shoulders and down his back. He raised his hands as she watched, and columns of flame erupted on either side of him.

The crowd was moving now, brushing against her sides as they hurried away. Some of the Dalish still laughed uneasily, but more looked genuinely worried. Despite themselves, the performance was unnerving them. Somewhere, Ryneth heard a child scream.

Fireballs followed. They arced through the night sky, mixing with the lightning and dissipating harmlessly before reaching the ground. It was more magic than Ryneth had ever seen in one place at one time, and she found herself rooted to the spot, marveling in the sheer, violent beauty of it.

By the time the effects began to fade and she looked down again, everyone had gone. She stood alone in the clearing, and Fen'Harel crossed the empty space to stand before her, his face hidden behind the snarling countenance of his hood.

"Don't you know you're supposed to flee before the Dread Wolf?"

"I'm new here. What happens if I don't?"

He put his arms around her and drew her under the hood, bending to cover her throat in kisses, his teeth grazing her skin. "He takes you."

 

He pulled her back through the encampment by one hand, pausing only once to press her against the side of an aravel and untie the laces at her hips.

"Just getting a head start," he said, burying his face in her hair as he worked the leather apart.

"Feyndir," she gasped as he thrust one of his thighs between hers. "There're people watching."

"Let them," he growled, but he stopped and yanked her forward again, rushing them past low-burning fires and around groups of stumbling elves who leered and raised glasses as they passed.

"In here," he said finally, lifting a flap.

Ryneth looked at him. "This is your tent?"

He nodded and gestured toward the opening. "After you, vhenan."

She stepped inside cautiously, her heart hammering in her ears. While her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Feyndir slipped in behind her and kissed the nape of her neck, his hands bunching in her dress and drawing it up over her hips. Obediently, she closed her eyes and lifted her hands over her head, and he pulled the garment up and off in one smooth movement, tossing it carelessly aside. Then he turned her to face him.

"Rabbit..." he murmured, running his hands up her sides, his thumbs brushing her nipples. "You're so lovely."

Ryneth reached up and tipped the wolfskin off his head, and it slithered off his back onto the ground. Feyndir was shirtless beneath it, having shed his jacket for the performance, but the thin gold chain still swayed along the length of his ear. He reached for it, but she drew his hand away.

"Leave that alone." She stood on her toes to run her tongue along the upper edge of his other ear, biting down gently on the tip. He groaned and pulled her flush against him.

"You've been wanting to do that for a while, haven't you?" he teased, his voice rough with desire. 

"Ages, to be honest."

"You shouldn't have waited so long, then." He lifted her easily, his lithe body belying his strength, and deposited her on her back on a layer of soft pelts. From beneath the furs, the fragrance of sweet grasses drifted up, and she inhaled deeply. 

"Comfortable?" He moved to her feet, unwinding her foot wraps with practiced speed. 

"Don't worry about those," she sighed. He was too far away; she wanted him closer. 

He shook his head. "Nothing is coming between us tonight, vhenan. Not even these." 

He tossed the strips of leather aside and started on his own, but Ryneth couldn't lie still. She sat up and crept behind him, running her hands over his broad shoulders and down his narrow back, letting her lips and tongue follow the paths her fingers traced. She listened as Feyndir's breath quickened in response, his nimble fingers slowing, fumbling. At last, though, he freed himself and pushed her back down.

"Just a few more laces to go," he whispered, loosening both sides of her pants at once. Suddenly everything was happening too quickly, and Ryneth's breath caught in her throat. She felt herself begin to tremble as he hooked his thumbs under the material at her waist.

"Don't be afraid of me," he crooned, sliding his hands slowly downward. The last of her clothing slipped down her legs and was lost to the darkness, and as she struggled to catch her breath Feyndir stood and removed his own, as well.

Ryneth didn't know where to look then, though her heart was beating so fast and hard she could barely see straight, anyway. She whimpered as the elf knelt over her, crawling slowly up her body, his tongue moving skillfully over her skin. When their mouths met, his legs forced hers wide with the urgency of a need long deferred, and Ryneth cried out, not knowing whether in lust or fright. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw that his hands were glowing.

Feyndir reached down between them then, his large eyes locked onto hers, his breath ragged, and touched her. She felt the warmth of his magic spreading even as his hips ground against her, hurting and healing in the same moment, and her back arched of its own accord. She moaned into his mouth as he kissed her, his free arm holding her firmly in place as he eased inside her.

"I've wanted this since I met you," he groaned as their bodies began to move together in a timeless rhythm. 

Ryneth closed her eyes, stroking his long ear as he took her. "You shouldn't have waited so long, then."


	33. Chapter 33

Ryneth stood alone in her room, holding the shimmering green dress up in front of her. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and sighed. She didn't want to go to this ball, didn't want to see Phinneas, didn't even want to be at home with her father. She wanted to be with Feyndir, hunting in ruin-strewn meadows by day and making love under the stars at night. The past week had been all kinds of wonderful.

Yet she knew what she was about to do was necessary. Clan Lutharra was counting on her to uncover Elrech's plans, depending on her to collect information that would ensure the safety of everyone. Everyone. Once, Ryneth would only have considered Feyndir's well-being, but increasingly she found herself concerned for all the Dalish. She was determined not to let them down.

"You look beautiful, daughter," Sean said when she emerged a few minutes later, "though I'm still surprised you agreed to attend."

Ryneth knew he suspected she had an ulterior motive, but she refused to let him be drawn into the intrigue. "I couldn't let this dress go to waste," she said, twirling around. 

Sean raised an eyebrow. "It's certainly very...Orlesian, isn't it?" He sighed and opened the front door. "After you, my dear."

 

As they climbed into the waiting carriage, Ryneth cast one last glance toward the darkening forest. She had no doubt Feyndir was watching her leave, scowling as he had when she'd told him of the Keeper's request.

"She asks too much of you," he'd said. "She's putting you in danger."

"She's asking me to go to a party hosted by my own uncle. That's hardly dangerous."

"What if they suspect you? What if Phinneas guesses your intent?" 

Ryneth had placed a hand over her lover's heart. "He won't. I'll make sure of it."

He'd grimaced. "That thought is not comforting either, rabbit."

 

The Brighton residence was nearly overflowing with people. It seemed everyone who worked for Elrech had been invited, as well as the families of those who'd died assaulting the Dalish in the forest. Ryneth wandered from room to room, sipping wine and nervously waiting for Phinneas to find her.

Instead, in a small library off the entry, she found Kendrick hiding behind a desk.

"Hello there," she said, surprised.

The boy put a finger to his lips. "I'm hiding from Saraline," he whispered.

His older sister burst into the room just then, her dark curls bobbing as her eyes darted about. "I heard you, Kendrick," she announced, dropping to her hands and knees to check under the couch. "Where is he, Cousin Ryneth?"

"I didn't hear anything," she lied. "I don't think he's in here."

Saraline frowned and stood up, her pink satin dress rumpled. "I don't believe you," she said, continuing her search. She located Kendrick quickly, and delivered a punch to his arm that made Ryneth cringe. "You have to get the cakes now."

Kendrick rubbed at the spot she'd hit. "I already did, twice! Mother says she'll send me to bed if she catches me at them again." Ryneth noticed that both children had crumbs around their mouths from their previous thefts, and suppressed a laugh.

"If you like, I'll go fetch you some cakes," she offered.

The pair regarded her with a mixture of suspicion and hope. "Okay," Saraline said slowly. "They're in the kitchen...we'll wait here."

Ryneth wasn't sure where the kitchen was, but figured she may as well look about. Perhaps she'd find Phinneas on the way. She left the children in the library and continued her wandering, dodging careless elbows and curious glances alike in the close quarters. She felt crowded, stifled by the wood-paneled halls and curtained rooms. It was un unfamiliar sensation, and disconcerting.

Finally, she slipped through a side door off the dining room, and found what she was looking for. The kitchen was bustling with workers both human and elven, busily preparing platters of finger foods and trays of wine.

"Can I help you, miss?" It was the timid, brown-eyed elf Ryneth had met the first time she'd visited Elrech's estate.

"I was hoping for a couple of frilly cakes, if you've any to spare." The girl's face seemed somehow odd, naked. With a start, Ryneth realized she was growing unused to seeing elves without vallaslin.

"For the Brighton children, yes?" The servant laughed, suddenly much less shy than she'd seemed previously. "You are easily recruited to mischief, I see." She spoke the words lightly, but there was a look in her eyes Ryneth thought she understood. "Just a moment."

She hurried off, returning momentarily with several cakes wrapped in a cloth. "I've something else for you, too," she said, reaching into her apron pocket. She laid a familiar gold chain in Ryneth's palm. "Now back to the party with you, before you're missed."

Ryneth headed back to Kendrick and Saraline with her heart in her throat. She tucked Feyndir's ear chain into her cleavage, comforted to have a bit of him with her, and smiled. When she opened the door of the library, however, the expression froze on her face.

"My dear cousin! I've been searching all over for you!" Phinneas stood up and approached, kissing her cheek lightly. "You look absolutely radiant."

"Cakes!" shouted Saraline. She and Kendrick rushed over, practically tearing the wrapped treats from Ryneth's hands, and disappeared amongst the guests in the hallway.

Phinneas shook his head. "Your kindness is admirable," he said, smiling. "Do be careful, though, or they'll walk all over you. Wild things can't be blamed for their nature."

He offered her his arm, and together they moved into the great hall, which had been cleared of furniture for dancing. Ryneth couldn't help but notice that his doublet had stripes of the same emerald green as her gown; together, they made a matched set. She felt a little sick inside at the thought, but was careful not to show it.

"Shall we dance?" Phinneas asked, leading her onto the floor.

"I'd love to," she smiled, wondering how she was going to broach the subject of his father's plans for the Dalish.

He slipped an arm about her waist, and they joined the other couples on the floor. "Are you enjoying the evening thus far?"

"I am," she said. It'd been a long while since she'd danced, and it took all her concentration to follow the steps and the conversation at the same time. "And thank you again for this beautiful dress. It's by far the nicest I've ever owned."

Phinneas smiled. "You deserve beautiful things, Ryneth. Beautiful, elegant, civilized things. Things I can give you." He paused. "And after this evening, I can offer you security, as well."

Ryneth sensed the opening she'd been waiting for was falling in her lap, and tried not to look overly interested. "Security?" she repeated, blinking innocently.

He grinned, malevolence flashing briefly in his eyes. "We'll see those knife-ears pay for their crimes, my dear. They'll never get in our way again." He pulled her closer, and it took every bit of determination she had not to resist him.

"How will you manage that?" she asked instead, wincing at the break in her voice.

Phinneas laughed. "You'll find out soon, just like everyone else. We've kept it secret - we couldn't risk a sympathizer running off to warn them again, could we?" He looked at her pointedly, and she blanched.

"But Mira is dead," she said weakly.

He snorted. "Mira. She was a bitch, but she didn't know what the townspeople were planning."

Ryneth stopped dancing and pulled back, unable to continue. "If you knew she was innocent, then why...."

"It was obvious the elves had been tipped off. The people of Drayton were looking for someone to blame, and I couldn't allow their gaze to fall upon you, darling." He looked around, making certain no one was listening before continuing. "Out there all alone in that cabin, day after day, the forest just a stone's throw away...I'm not surprised you were seduced by their exotic nature. I knew something was off when you refused to eat the halla; what happened to the vigilantes only confirmed my suspicions."

Ryneth felt her throat tightening, and she began to search about for an exit. Meanwhile, the musicians finished their song and everyone burst into applause. Elrech ascended the makeshift stage at the far end of the room, raising his hands for quiet.

"My friends," he began, his voice booming, "times have been difficult recently. First, the Dalish heathens set upon us as we worked in the forest, murdering our friends and cruelly mutilating their remains. Then, when we tried to retaliate, they killed more of our brave men and women - people who only wanted to protect their families and this community. In light of that, you might wonder why I invited you here tonight. Why throw a party in the midst of such misery?" He paused dramatically, and those around Ryneth began to nod and murmur to one another. 

Elrech cleared his throat. "I gathered you here to tell you that it ends tonight. No more will knife-ears terrorize the people of Drayton, no more will we cower in-"

"Enough." A man in a blood-red hood took the stage, the pointed flaps on his cowl both a tribute to and a mockery of the elven people. "Elrech has invited me here to take care of your little elf problem," he announced to the room in a thick Tevinter accent. "My Templars are about the task even as I speak, rounding them up to serve the Elder One at his mine in Sahrnia. They will no longer trouble your village."


	34. Chapter 34

There was a smattering of applause in the hall, but most people merely turned to one another in stunned silence.

"The Elder One?" someone in front of her whispered. "Isn't that...."

"Shhh. They're getting rid of the damned knife-ears; that's what matters."

Ryneth looked at Phinneas, horrified. "This is your solution? Tevinter slavers?"

He took a step toward her. "I know you're upset right now, Ryneth, but in the long run you'll see -"

She turned from him, angry tears clouding her vision, and forced her way through the astonished crowd. She had to get out, had to get to Feyndir, had to warn the Keeper....

"Oh Maker, oh Creators, it's too late," she mumbled, clutching at the spot where Feyndir's chain lay against her skin. She could feel panic setting in, and fought to maintain control. Blindly, she made her way toward the front door, no plan in her head except escape.

"Ryneth!" Strong hands took her by the shoulders, held her until she recognized their owner.

"I have to find Feyndir!" She shook in Sean's arms, trying to peel herself out of his grasp.

"There's nothing you can do, child," he said, drawing her closer. "You have to be quiet, now. People are watching you."

Slowly, Ryneth became aware of her surroundings again. She saw the heads turned in her direction, the questioning looks. In that instant, she hated them all.

"Miss is upset? She has spilled a drink?" It was the elf from the kitchen, the one who'd passed her the chain. She was holding a cloth, and now she pressed it against Ryneth's bodice as if to sop up imagined liquid. 

"What are you...." Sean's words died away as he realized what was happening.

"Don't worry, sir, I will take care of her. We will get the stain out."

"I...thank you." He looked at his daughter, his brow wrinkled with worry. "I love you, Ryneth," he said, releasing her.

"Come with me, miss," the elf said, louder than was necessary. "We will not let your gown be spoiled."

Ryneth sniffed, fighting back real tears. "I'm so clumsy," she agreed, holding the cloth against her chest as she followed the servant through a side door.

They progressed through a series of rooms, the elf speaking loudly about the difficulties of removing wine stains in each one, until at last they passed back through the kitchen and into a pantry.

"My name is Shiriel. Here they know me as Bethan." She removed her apron and kicked off her shoes angrily. "We will go to the People together, and find out whether any remain."

Ryneth nodded, numb. "My name is Ryneth," she said stupidly.

Shiriel frowned and stepped closer, peering into her eyes. "You've had a bad shock, shemlen. Pull yourself together."

Ryneth shook her head, trying to clear the fog. "Sorry. You're from Clan Lutharra? But you have no vallaslin."

The elf grunted. "Not where you can see it, anyway. I wouldn't be much use as a spy with lines on my face, would I?"

They slipped out a back door and crossed the estate's gardens, a full moon lighting their steps. There were a handful of guests mingling outside, but none took any notice of them. They were already inside the stables when they heard footsteps behind them.

"Ryneth?" 

She whirled around, looking for a weapon.

Hendry put his hands up. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said, regret in his voice. "Elrech must have lost his mind, inviting Venatori to Drayton. It's no wonder he didn't want anyone to know what he was up to. If the Inquisitor finds out they're here...."

"I couldn't care less about the damned Inquisitor at the moment, brother."

He winced. "I'm sorry. I only came to tell you that Molly's already saddled. She's in the far stall."

Ryneth glanced around and spotted the mare at the end of the row. "Thank you, Hendry."

"I don't suppose there's any point asking you not to go?"

She shook her head. "No, there isn't."

 

The road home stretched on forever. Ryneth gave Molly her head, but no matter how fast the horse galloped it seemed too slow. When they finally reached the cabin, she slid off and raced to collect her bow and quiver, wondering at the futility of it even as she did so. She knew she was no match for the Red Templars, but being armed still felt better than not.

Shiriel also dismounted. "We should leave the horse here," she said. "It's dark, and she's unused to the forest. We'll travel just as quickly on foot."

Ryneth agreed, and the two of them entered the woods together. It didn't take long before they spotted signs of recent fighting - smoking scorch marks on the ground, trees felled, slippery patches of ice slowly melting into puddles. 

"This far from camp, they were fighting scouts," Shiriel observed. She pointed out a pair of wheel ruts in the soft earth. "They brought the cages through here."

Ryneth tried to picture it, and felt nauseous. She wanted to walk faster, but thorn bushes clawed at her full skirt and roots tripped her in the darkness. 

"If you twist your ankle, we'll never get there," Shiriel warned. "Calm yourself."

Ryneth took a deep breath. She could see flames ahead, the remnants of fire magic that had found fuel on the forest floor. They discovered the first body nearby, face down amongst the ferns. 

Shiriel knelt beside the elf and gently turned him over. He'd been electrocuted, his face black with soot, his mouth twisted open in a grimace of agony.

"Is it...?" Ryneth asked, clutching at the chain beneath her bodice again.

"No," Shiriel said. "His name was Liranel." She laid a hand on the dead elf's chest. "May Falon'Din guide you to your rest, brother." 

They moved on, and the further they traveled into the woods the more destruction and bodies they encountered. Shiriel eventually stopped checking to see who the victims were, and Ryneth no longer wanted to know. If Feyndir numbered among the dead, she would learn of it when they reached the camp. Assuming anyone was left there to tell her.

 

Ryneth heard it first. The sound began like a kitten mewling somewhere in the distance, but grew louder as they approached the Dalish encampment. She started to ask Shiriel what it was, but then she knew. It was keening.

The camp had been destroyed. Most of the aravels were burnt or still burning, and melting ice dripped from trees and coated the ground under their feet. Panicked halla leapt through the wreckage, over the bodies of the dead and around the living, who wandered wide-eyed and aimless through the remains of their home. Permeating everything, the wails of mourning elves filled the smoky air.

"You!" An elderly Dalish man with a swollen eye limped toward them, waving a sword shakily. "You did this!"

Shiriel stepped in front of Ryneth. "She did not. I've been with her all evening."

"She led them to us! She's a spy!" He swung the weapon weakily, nowhere close to hitting them, and burst into a fit of coughing that sent him to his knees.

Shiriel crouched beside the man. "Hahren, you need rest." She began speaking to him in low tones, trying to comfort him. Ryneth watched them for a moment, then stepped away. She moved through the camp slowly, feeling as though she were in a bad dream, searching for her beloved in every bruised and battered face.

"Ryneth!" She heard her name and turned with a gasp, expecting Feyndir. The elf's tunic was torn and bloodied, the left side of his face covered in a bright pink burn, his long blond hair limp with ash and dirt.

"Atharil!" she cried, clutching at his hand. "Where is Feyndir?"

He pulled her into an embrace so tight she could barely breath.

"Ir abelas, my friend." He spoke softly, holding her up as she felt her legs failing beneath her. "I tried to get to him...."


	35. Chapter 35

"Together now...push!"

Ryneth opened her eyes with a start, momentarily confused. She was lying in a tent, sunlight streaming in through a small hole overhead, and there was an empty mug on the ground beside her bedroll. Vaguely, she recalled being made to drink something. Elfroot. For the pain.

She sat bolt upright as the memory of the previous night returned to her, and was startled to find Freylen staring back at her.

"You're awake," she said dully. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair hanging untidily about her face. There was a crashing sound outside as she spoke, but she didn't blink.

"What's going on out there?"

Freylen plucked at the shawl about her shoulders. Ryneth felt she'd seen it somewhere before, but couldn't think clearly enough to place it. "They're righting the aravels, repairing those that can be salvaged. We need to leave soon."

Ryneth stared at her. "Leave? You can't leave - what about your people? You have to rescue them!"

Freylen shook her head slowly. "You did not see the foreign mages, nor the monsters they call Templars. We cannot defeat them; both clans will be wiped out if we try. We must practice the Way of the Bow, and bend without breaking." She laughed mirthlessly. "Feyndir told me to contemplate the Vir Tanadhal when I was preparing to receive my vallaslin. I thought it was pointless, but I guess he was right." 

Ryneth was appalled. "Where is the Keeper?" she asked, a flush of anger creeping into her face. "I can't believe she agreed-"

"She's dead," said Freylen simply. "And Tirsas was among those taken by the slavers." She laughed again, as joyless a sound as Ryneth had ever heard, and began to sob.

The tent flap opened then, and Atharil entered. He had changed into fresh clothing since the night before, but there were dark circles under his eyes, and the burn on his face was beginning to blister. He nodded at Ryneth before sitting down beside Freylen, wrapping his arms around her protectively.

"We have five serviceable aravels," he murmured to her, his report substituting for words of comfort. "Clan Virathel has seven. Most of the halla escaped harm, but are running loose in the forest; I've sent hunters out to gather them up." He stroked her hair. "Your people will be ready to travel soon, Keeper. Will you be ready to lead us?"

Freylen drew a shuddering breath. "Ma serannas, Atharil," she said, wiping at her eyes. "I will be."

Ryneth struggled to her feet, weighed down by the heavy and copious fabric of her ballgown. "Yes, run away," she said, disgusted. "Feyndir would be ashamed of you both."

Neither of the elves said anything for a moment. Finally Atharil looked up at her, his expression cold. 

"Feyndir would want the clan to survive," he said evenly. "You do not understand our ways."

Ryneth sneered. "Maker take your ways! You're abandoning him to slavery!"

He turned away. "Begone with your Maker."

 

Ryneth stormed out of the tent, wishing the flap was a door so she could slam it. Outside, she squinted in the light as she stomped through the remains of the camp, no idea where she was headed. She drew stares every step of the way, and this time she knew it wasn't just because of her race. Her dress was cumbersome and ridiculous here, its hem trailing in the mud, its skirt torn and hanging in multiple places. She gathered it up in her arms as best she could, and stalked into the forest.

Away from the curious gaze of the Dalish, Ryneth sighed and sat down heavily on a fallen log. She reached into her bodice and took out Feyndir's chain, turning it over in her hands as she thought. There had to be a way to save him, to save all the captured elves. Atharil and Freylen might be ready to give up, but she was not. 

Gradually, an idea began to form. Ryneth stared into the depths of the forest, transfixed, as it gently unfurled, circling the edges of her mind like a wolf preparing to lunge. She thought of all the stories she'd heard of the Dalish, all the tales humans told of their cruelty and barbarism. She remembered Tanen, and what the townspeople believed had happened to his family. They thought the elves capable of anything. What if they were right? Alone amidst the trees, Ryneth hugged herself, a slow smile creeping across her face.


	36. Chapter 36

"Have you lost your mind, shemlen?" Clan Virathel's Keeper exclaimed, pacing back and forth in the clearing.

"It could work," Freylen said. She leaned on her staff tiredly, but her large eyes had regained some of their former sparkle.

"It could also go disasterously wrong in a dozen different ways! And even if it doesn't... Creators." He shook his head. "Is this really what we want to become?"

Atharil smiled grimly. "The monsters they already think us, you mean? That depends; how badly do you want your people returned?"

The older man shook his head at Freylen. "No offense, Keeper, but you are inexperienced. I am not certain this is a wise path."

Ryneth stood up. She saw the man's eyes flicker disapprovingly over her Dalish clothing, but she didn't care. She'd cobbled the outfit together using pieces from both Feyndir's and Freylen's wardrobes, and it fit her well enough. Mostly, she was just relieved to be rid of the heavy, filthy ballgown. "We can't do this without Clan Virathel," she said, cutting to the heart of the matter. "We need your numbers to stand a chance, hahren, and you must decide quickly."

The Keeper sighed, looking each one of them in the eye before answering. "Very well," he said finally, throwing back his shoulders. "We will join you in this madness, Clan Lutharra." He touched his fist to his heart. "Creators help us all."

 

The Dalish prepared, and then they slept in shifts. It felt strange to lie down in the middle of the day, and Ryneth tossed on her bedroll, her mind too full to rest. She worried about Feyndir, wondering what was happening to him at that moment, and then her thoughts raced ahead and she fretted over what was coming. Between the two, she could find no sleep.

"My friend," Atharil said quietly, hearing her restless turning, "come and lie with us." He had been curled against Freylen's back, but now he moved to make room for her in the middle.

Ryneth sat up and looked at him, confused. She hadn't failed to notice his closeness with Freylen, and she had no interest in being part of it.

The elf smiled faintly. "Don't worry; this is not a romantic invitation."

Freylen giggled at the idea before turning serious. "It's for comfort, lethallan," she explained drowsily.

Ryneth was touched by her use of the word. Shyly, she crawled over and lay down between the two of them. They shifted until they pressed against her on either side, and their warmth, as well as the weight of their slight bodies, cushioned her physically and mentally. Sighing with relief, Ryneth finally felt her mind grow still and her eyelids become heavy. As she slipped into the Fade, it occurred to her that this must be what it felt like to be part of a clan, one of the People. The thought made her wistful.

 

They readied under a full moon, red-gold pauldrons and gauntlets gleaming as the warriors fastened them into place. Archers strapped full quivers to their backs, the halla keepers whispered to their snowy companions, and the mages summoned veilfire to light their path through the woods. Ryneth, perched high atop Maeven's hart, gripped the bow Feyndir had made her with sweating palms. Finally, the Keepers gave the signal, and the Dalish were on the march.

They traveled through the dark forest swiftly and silently, many of the hunters and scouts taking to the trees as soon as they were underway. Ryneth concentrated on not falling off her mount. She'd never ridden the enormous creature alone, but she would need it tonight. If everything went to plan, she'd be returning with more riders than just herself. 

When they reached the forest's edge, the Keepers raised their hands and stopped. Those in the trees dropped soundlessly to the ground at the signal, forming long lines that stretched back into the darkness. Ryneth's breath caught in her throat at the sight. Even with their numbers thinned by the slavers, the two clans together were an impressive sight. She hoped fervently that she was not leading them to their destruction.

As they moved forward again, descending the gentle slope toward the cabin, Ryneth dug in her heels and urged the hart faster. She could see there were candles lit inside, and she knew the passing of a hundred or more elves would not go unnoticed, no matter how light their steps. Sure enough, the door opened as she approached.

Sean peered out into the night, his jaw falling open as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. When Ryneth drew up beside him he shied away, not recognizing her.

"Good evening, Father," she said, trying to keep her voice light.

"Maker's breath!" he exclaimed, throwing a hand over his heart. "Ryneth?"

"So, it turns out the Dalish do leave the woods on occasion," she said as the first of the elves reached the road and started up it.

"Don't be flippant," he grumbled, staring up at her. "This isn't a game you're playing, you know."

Ryneth frowned. "They took Feyndir. I'm well aware of the gravity of the situation."

Atharil appeared then, a pair of warriors in tow. "Hahren," he said, bowing slightly. "It will not be safe for you to venture out tonight. Allow me to leave these men here for your protection."

Sean snorted. "For my protection?" He turned to his daughter. "Ryneth, are you aware this is the elf who slit young Jexen's throat?"

Ryneth paled, but shook her head. "That doesn't matter now. Where's Hendry?"

Sean sighed. "He's asleep. I ran into him last night and convinced him to come home."

She nodded. "Good. If he awakens, keep him inside. Don't let him pick a fight he won't win."

She gave the reins a flick, and the hart lumbered forward again. Atharil swung up behind her as they departed, giving Sean a small wave. 

"I don't think your father likes me," he said.

Ryneth offered him a wry smile. "That's not surprising. You're something of an acquired taste."


	37. Chapter 37

At the fork in the road, Ryneth and Atharil parted ways. The elf slid lightly off the hart's wide back, pausing to watch as his friend turned down the narrow track to the south. A dozen of Clan Lutharra's hunters followed her.

"Mythal'enaste," he breathed, wishing her success. Then he jogged ahead, moving quickly up the lines of fighters until he reached the front. He found the Keepers, their staffs aloft and glowing softly with ethereal wisps of veilfire. He darted silently in behind them, and hopped onto the back of Freylen's halla.

She gasped, then grunted in annoyance. "Atharil, you belong with the others."

"How are you holding up?" he asked, pretending he hadn't heard.

She sighed. "I'm scared witless, but if this is what it takes to free Feyndir...."

He swept her hair to one side, and leaned his chin softly on her shoulder. "We will free him, vhenan. We'll free them all."

He felt her back tense. "Stop calling me that."

"As you wish, Keeper. Hahren." He raised his head, stifling a chuckle.

She whirled on him. "I AM your Keeper, and just because we-" she looked around, and lowered her voice. "It doesn't mean we're together." 

"Fair enough." He was silent for a while. "Why did you seek me out, then? Because we both know it wasn't merely Andruil's will."

She shrugged. "I just...I just felt like it. You're very handsome." He could see a flush creeping up the back of her neck. "Now leave me alone; this isn't the time for this discussion."

Atharil smiled to himself and leapt down, merging with the lines of following elves once again. It was enough, for now.

 

Drayton was dark as they approached, most of its citizens having long since blown out their candles and retired to their beds. Quietly, using hand signals, the Keepers split their forces into two groups. Clan Virathel would attack the town from the near side, Clan Lutharra from the far, and they would meet in the middle. Those on halla would encircle the village, waiting to play their own role.

Atharil and his clansmen followed Freylen through a farmer's field, young corn stalks whispering about their thighs in the stillness, and across a shallow stream. At last they passed through a small wood and back onto the road, the village behind them. Freylen turned them about, and shot a small fireball straight into the air. After a moment, the signal was returned. They were ready.

Freylen raised an arm, and the clan advanced. Slowly, she swung her staff in a circle over her head, drawing power from the Fade, and began to cast. A fireball arced from the tip of her weapon, falling softly through the darkness to land on the thatched roof of a round house, where it caught flame. She cast again, and the house beside it was alight. Spell by spell, the young Keeper set fire to every building she passed. For a time, the night remained quiet. Atharil had time to look up at the stars and contemplate his place in the cosmos. Then the screaming began.

The Dalish moved quickly. Atharil hurried to position himself beside a door, and waited. The occupants, a man and woman dressed only in long, white nightshirts, spilled into the street a moment later, coughing. They were already panicked and confused, and when they saw him with his dagger drawn they threw their hands up in terror. It was simpler than he'd expected to wrest the sleepy toddler from the woman's arms.

"Mama!" the child cried, and Atharil suddenly felt as if he might throw up. He nearly handed the tiny shemlen back in horror, but he steeled himself.

"Hush," he told it, instead. It fell silent in surprise, gazing up at his marked face, his pointed ears. Then it let out a piercing shriek. Its father took a step forward at the sound, and Atharil thrust his blade out again in warning. The child's mother screamed and clutched at her husband's arm.

A halla appeared then, bounding out of the darkness and skidding to a halt beside them. Relieved, Atharil passed the little shem to the elf on its back. In a heartbeat, they were gone. The woman sank to her knees with a wail, and the man threw his arms around her. Atharil made sure they didn't intend following before moving on to the next house.

Clan Lutharra moved through the town in this manner, torching homes and snatching children. Most of the residents were too surprised and frightened to resist, but those who dared were cut down without mercy. They had nearly reached the other clan when a horn sounded in the distance.

Freylen spun around on her mount. "That's our warning!" she called. "The Templars are on their way: retreat!"

Atharil swung onto her halla again as she passed, and this time she didn't complain. They rode with haste to the meeting point, a clearing in a small grove to the west of town. Atharil's mouth fell open at the sight of all the captured children milling about there. 

"Creators," he breathed. "I'd no idea we took so many." The little ones were being offered bowls of elfroot to calm them and make them docile for the return journey, but some of them were resisting.

"We may have to leave the more spirited ones behind," Freylen observed. I would rather not force the concoction down their necks."

Atharil patted her back, darkly amused. "No, we wouldn't want to stoop to that." He looked off toward the south. "With the Templars distracted, Ryneth should have the opening she needs. Let us hope she is successful; her prisoners may well be worth all of ours combined."


	38. Chapter 38

"Farril?" Ryneth said, suddenly recognizing the red-headed elf lying beside her in the long grass.

He nodded slightly. "That's right. You sound surprised."

"I just...I didn't think you liked me."

He cast her a sidelong glance. "I don't like you. You're an interloper, and I don't understand what Feyndir sees in you."

"Oh." She returned to watching the Templars outside Elrech's door. Their eyes glowed red in the darkness, something to do with a new kind of lyrium. One of them scratched the back of his leg with the toe of his opposite boot, bored.

"That doesn't mean I don't want to help, though," Farril continued. "I've been a member of both clans, remember? I know every single person these bastards took personally."

Ryneth opened her mouth to respond, but just then another Templar arrived on horseback. He spoke to the others briefly, pointing to the north, and then they all mounted up and rode off at a gallop.

"This is it," Farril said. "Let's go."

Ryn exhaled in relief. "I thought they might not respond," she admitted. "I wasn't certain a bunch of slavers would care whether a village burned."

Farril shook his head. "I doubt they do care," he said. "They're probably just excited by the possibility of capturing a few more Dalish." He crouched and began withdrawing toward the other elves. Ryneth followed.

 

The Brighton estate was dark, and there was no sign of movement from within as they crossed the side yard. A few of the Dalish disappeared around the back to watch the rear exits, while Farril cautiously approached the front door. The rest drew swords and nocked arrows, expectant.

Ryneth took a deep breath, and crept up to wait at the foot of the wide front steps. Farril exchanged a look with her, then knelt and carefully picked the lock. She held her breath until she heard a click. Then the door swung inward with a small squeak.

The Dalish filed in swiftly, spreading out to search every room. Ryneth entered last, accompanied by Farril. The house looked so different now, empty and silent. She stood by the open door, waiting while the hunters cleared the first floor. They found no one, as expected. The bedrooms were on the second floor.

The central staircase was a massive thing, its gently curving banisters polished to a high sheen. The elves' bare feet made small padding sounds as they ascended the hardwood steps, then disappeared from view. A few moments later there was muffled shouting, and the sound of something hard hitting the floor.

Ryneth moved toward the stairs, but Farril stopped her with a touch. "Wait," he said. They remained still, and soon figures reappeared at the top of the stairs. It was Elrech and Chantal, being prodded along by Dalish with blades to their backs. They descended the stairs slowly, their eyes puffy and hair tousled from sleep. Chantal was visibly shaking.

Somehow, the pair walked right past Ryneth without really seeing her. They either mistook her for an elf in her borrowed Dalish clothing, or the darkness caused them to overlook her entirely. In any case, the elves forced them out into the yard. When they were gone, another hunter hurried down the stairs.

"The upstairs is clear, apart from the nursery."

Farril wrinkled his brow. "What about the elder son?"

The elf shrugged. "He's not here. Perhaps he's with the Templars."

"Just as well, I suppose." Farril motioned toward the staircase. "After you, shemlen."

Ryneth climbed the dark staircase with her heart in her throat. Nervously, she fingered the strips of cloth in her pocket and prayed that everything would go smoothly. What entity she beseeched, she didn't know. Perhaps they were all the same.

Farril flattened himself against the wall outside the childrens' room, hidden but ready if he was needed. Ryneth tried the door handle, and it swung inward easily. The room beyond was lavish and filled with toys, and the two beds were empty.

"Hello?" she said softly. She could hear rustling somewhere to her left. "Kendrick? Saraline?"

A shape popped up from behind a dollhouse. "Cousin Ryneth? Is that you?" 

Ryneth forced herself to smile. "Kendrick! I'm so glad I found you."

The boy walked over to her, squinting in the dim light. "We heard noises, so we hid," he explained. "Why are you dressed like a knife-ear?"

Saraline crawled out from under her bed, excited. "Is it a game, Cousin?"

Ryneth saw the opportunity, and took it gratefully. "It is, and I've just captured you," she announced. "You'll have to come with me."

Saraline giggled. "Right now? In the middle of the night?"

"Of course." Ryneth removed the cloth and held it out. "But first, I need to blindfold you."

 

They descended the stairs together, Ryneth holding each child by one hand. Farril followed silently behind, a mystified expression on his freckled face. Outside, she led her small cousins over to the tree where their parents were bound and gagged. Chantal made a choked sound at the sight of her children, blindfolded yet grinning. Elrech's eyes, meanwhile, widened in horrified recognition as he realized the person escorting them was no Dalish, but his own niece.

"Uncle Elrech," Ryneth said, a smile in her voice for the children's sake, but her eyes hard as silverite. "You know why we're here, and you know what we want. Free the elves, and your children will be returned to you. Fail, and-"

"The knife-ears will eat us!" Kendrick cried happily. One of the hunters clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing, and his clansman scowled and elbowed him fiercely in the ribs.

"Well said, Kendrick," Ryneth told him, not allowing the corners of her mouth to twitch. "Now, say goodbye to your parents."

"Goodbye, mummy," Saraline said. "Rescue us soon!"

"I love you!" Kendrick said, and Chantal burst into muffled sobs. Elrech's face turned red, and he struggled uselessly against his bonds. Ryneth ignored him.

"Who wants to ride a hart?" she asked instead, leading the children away.


	39. Chapter 39

Feyndir awoke to rain. The barn in which the Templars had secreted their wagons full of captives had been abandoned since the Blight, and there were gaping holes in its roof. The wagons themselves had no roofs at all. They were nothing but bare iron cages sitting on planks, and the elves inside shivered miserably as cold gusts of wind blew a misty spray down on their heads.

He stood slowly, wincing at the tightness in his spine. There wasn't enough room for everyone to lie down, so he'd been sleeping with his back against the bars, his knees drawn up in front of him. By the look of the sky, it was morning. He wondered whether they'd be offered food today; he wasn't sure he wanted any.

There were noises outside then, and everyone turned to stare apprehensively in their direction. Feyndir heard multiple horses drawing up, and then raised voices speaking, arguing. After several minutes, the barn's double doors burst open, sending a fresh gust of wet wind through the dilapidated structure. Two men entered, one of whom the elf recognized at once. His lip curled at the sight of the magister, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

But it was the other one, a pale, raven-haired man, who spoke. "Which one of you is it?" he shouted, his anger visible. "Who is she doing this for?" He was dressed impeccably, but his brocade jacket had been soaked by the downpour, and his hair hung dripping about his face. It gave him a slightly unhinged appearance.

The Dalish looked at one another, confused.

The magister smiled thinly. "It always takes a bit of effort to properly get elves' attention," he observed. "Allow me." He tapped his staff against the earth a few times, and threads of deep purple electricity crackled and snapped at the tip. He waved it lazily over his head and the threads became bolts, arcing outward to touch the bars of every cage. 

Feyndir flinched away from the metal instinctively, withdrawing with his clansmen to the center of their prison. All around the barn, there were cries of fear and pain as the Dalish scrambled to their feet, huddling together to avoid being shocked. Some of those injured in the raid had to be helped to stand.

The sight made the dark-haired man smirk. "Who is it?" he repeated, his voice turned to a low growl. "Which one of you dirty, disgusting animals is my cousin's lover?"

The Dalish remained silent, but a few cast furtive glances in Feyndir's direction. He paled. This was Phinneas Brighton, then. But what had Ryneth done to make him so angry?

The magister swung his staff again, and the lightning bolts that erupted from it this time were stronger than before. Feyndir felt his hair lift off his neck, felt the vibrations shifting his teeth and traveling through his bones. In another cage, a woman screamed and fell to the floor in agony. The shock continued, unending.

"Enough!" he shouted over the buzzing current, struggling to get the word out. He could taste copper, and realized his nose was bleeding. "It's me you want!"

The magister lowered his staff, and the electricity dissipated. He nodded to one of his strange, glowing Templars. "Help the lad with his elf," he said coolly, and swept out of the building.

 

Phinneas approached the cage slowly, an ugly sneer on his fine features. Feyndir felt one of his clansmen lay a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off. "It's alright," he said, his heart beating wildly. He lifted his chin and stepped forward.

"Put your hands out." The Templar's voice was strange, almost echoing, and his eyes shone like embers through the slits in his helm. Feyndir reached his arms through the bars, and the man clamped his wrists together in heavy irons. "Walk to the door."

Feyndir stepped to the back of the wagon, waiting while the Templar removed the heavy chain. He looked at his hands, feeling the weight of stares at his back. How many of them felt sorry for him, he wondered, and how many thought he was getting exactly what he deserved? 

The door opened with an unhappy squeal and Feyndir jumped down, wincing as he landed on the leg he'd injured in the attack. One of the Venatori had knocked him out of a tree with an ice spell, and he'd twisted it badly. It had taken all the healing magic he could muster just to make the pain bearable, but he was still far from recovered. He wouldn't be attempting a mad dash for freedom anytime soon.

The Templar replaced the lock and led them outside. It had stopped raining, but the sky still roiled with dark, angry clouds. A handful of the magister's forces stood around in the wet yard, speaking in low tones. They didn't look up as Feyndir passed by.

When they reached the deserted farmhouse, Phinneas waved the soldier away and pushed the worn door open. "Get inside, elf," he grunted, shoving Feyndir through the doorway. The home's interior was still furnished; a table and chairs before the empty hearth, a mouldering straw mattress in the corner, the dust-covered remains of herbs still strung from the ceiling. Either the occupants had left in a hurry, or they never left at all. During a Blight, either was possible.

Phinneas shut the door behind them. "Help me understand," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "What would possess a beautiful woman like Ryneth to give up her life for something like you?"

Feyndir's breath caught in his chest. "She is dead?"

Phinneas let him suffer the thought for a moment before answering. "She may as well be. After this, when she's caught...." He shook his head.

The elf felt the blood return to his extremities in a rush. "She's alive," he breathed. "What has she done?"

Phinneas shook his head. "No more than what was asked of her, I'm sure." He took a step closer. "For you. She must have done it for you."

Feyndir tried to imagine what had happened, but drew a blank. Whatever it was, though, Ryneth had escaped afterward. That much, at least, was encouraging.

"I could give her such a life," the man continued, almost as if he were talking to himself. "Fine clothes, a beautiful home, a place of privilege in the community. What can you offer her, besides tents and mud? You're not even Andrastian!" He laughed bitterly. "What am I saying? You're not even human!"

Feyndir frowned. "What is the point of this, Phinneas? Let her go. She doesn't love you, clearly."

"No," Phinneas said darkly. "She loves you, though. She'd do anything to save you, even betray her own family." His eyebrows knit together. "You've ruined her, haven't you?"

He didn't understand the question. "Ruined her?"

"Don't play stupid with me. Have you or have you not lain with her, you unwashed savage?"

Feyndir laughed in surprise. "You cannot ruin someone by loving them, shem. Perhaps that's where you went amiss."

Phinneas grabbed the elf by the throat and pinned him against the wall, his arm trembling with fury. "I would kill you right now if I hadn't a use for you," he said through gritted teeth. "But as it stands, I need you alive. I've bought you, and now you're going to purchase my siblings' freedom."


	40. Chapter 40

Sean trudged tiredly through the woods, half-expecting an arrow in his back at any moment. He could understand why he was the obvious choice for a messenger, why it had to be him, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. It was the last thing he wanted; to be caught in the middle of a conflict both sides were losing, with family on either side.

A twig snapped somewhere off to his left, and he jumped. He'd no idea whether he was anywhere near the Dalish encampment, but he'd been walking long enough that it was likely. Carefully, he scanned the lower branches of the trees in that direction, remembering how the Dalish loved to attack from above. There was nothing there.

He sighed in relief and turned back around, almost slicing his own face on the dagger at his jaw. Slowly, he put his hands up.

"I'm just here to talk, miss," he told the young Dalish wielding it. "Can't have an exchange of hostages without negotiations."

The girl nodded up at a nearby tree. "I'm going to search you now, and if you try anything he's going to shoot you."

Sean craned his neck while the elf checked for weapons. Even knowing where to look, it took him a moment to spot her companion, leaning casually against the wide trunk with his bow drawn.  
He groaned as they recognized one another, and the Dalish dropped lightly to the ground.

"It's alright, Meridan," he said with a half-smile. "This is Ryneth's father."

The female elf shrugged. "He's still a shem," she said, but she stopped searching him and backed away.

"My name is Sean."

"Atharil. I'm sorry about your friend, by the way. His death was necessary."

Sean scowled. "Which is it? You're sorry, or it was necessary?"

Atharil cocked his head. "I'm sorry that it was necessary."

"And what about the village your people just burned? Was that 'necessary', too?"

The elf was silent for a minute. "Perhaps you should ask your daughter about that," he said finally. "It was her idea, after all."

 

Sean had never been in a Dalish camp. The sight of their aravels alone was enough to make him want to run in the opposite direction, but he knew he couldn't turn back. Ryneth was here, somewhere, and he was the only one who might talk sense to her.

The elves they passed looked at him with open disgust. Many of them still bore wounds from the Venatori attack. In the light of day, Sean could see that Atharil, too, had been injured in the fighting. He cast a sidelong look at the elf's mottled cheek.

"I caught a fireball with my face," Atharil explained, catching the look.

Sean nodded. "It looks painful."

"We have healers. It's mostly scar tissue, now."

The older man looked around. "I don't see any of the village children."

Atharil glanced at him coldly. "Do you think we're stupid? They aren't here." And don't ask where they are, his tone threatened.

They passed by a large fire then, and Sean covered his mouth with his sleeve at the smell. With a shock, he realized the elves were burning bodies. "I thought the Dalish buried their dead," he observed.

Atharil grimaced. "Normally we would, but there are so many, and we may yet be forced to flee.... It is better than leaving them to the wolves." He stopped for a moment, placing a hand on the shoulder of a young girl who sobbed before the flames. "Falon'Din will guide her, Arinna."

She looked up at him, her eyes red with tears. "I want to go home."

He dropped to his knees and took her by the shoulders. "You are home, da'len. Your mother chose this clan to be your family, and we will all look after you now. You don't need to be afraid."

She threw her arms around Atharil's neck and Sean looked away, feeling he'd intruded on a private moment. It was difficult for him to reconcile the elf before him with the one he'd first met, the one who'd slaughtered a helpless boy and painted the trees with his blood. And Feyndir - he'd been there, too. Sean had nearly forgotten. How much blood had his daughter's lover had on his hands that day?

Atharil stood back up. "This way," he said, as if nothing had happened. He led Sean further into the camp, stopping before the largest of the scattered tents. "After you."

 

Sean hesitated for just a moment. It was foolish, he knew; if the Dalish wanted him dead, they could have killed him already. Still, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of being confined in a small space with them. He sighed, took a deep breath, and ducked in.

Ryneth stood up at once. "Father? What are you doing here?"

"This is Sean Brighton, Keeper," Atharil said, addressing the small elven woman seated beside her. "Elrech sent him."

The girl motioned for him to sit, and Ryneth sank back down as well, surprise still evident on her face. Atharil slipped out soundlessly.

"Andaran atish'an, Sean. I am Freylen, Keeper of Clan Lutharra."

Sean grunted. "Should I be honored or concerned to find my daughter by the Keeper's side?"

Freylen started to laugh, then stopped herself. She was very young, Sean realized, and trying much too hard to appear dignified. It wasn't difficult for him to do the math. "Your previous Keeper is on that pyre out there, yes?" he asked softly. 

Freylen looked at Ryneth, who nodded slightly. "She was killed defending the camp," the elf admitted.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "And what would she have made of your decision to burn down an entire town and abscond with its children?"

"What do you make of your brother's decision to murder and enslave my people?" Her voice was raised now; this wasn't what he wanted.

"It was stupid and wrong. And cruel. He's an idiot."

Freylen seemed taken aback by his response. "Well, that's something we can agree on," she huffed, the wind taken out of her sails somewhat.

Sean looked at Ryneth. Someone had braided her hair into a complex pattern on one side of her head. The style, taken along with her newfound Dalish clothing, lent her more of an elven appearance than he would have thought possible. All she was missing was a pair of pointed ears and a vallaslin. "I heard this was your idea," he said to her. "Explain."

Ryneth shrugged. "The Venatori are too powerful to fight. If we want our- if the Dalish want their people returned, this is the only way."

Sean sighed. There might well have been other ways, but there was little point in arguing that now. For better or worse, it was time to give them the message he'd been sent to deliver. "Elrech does indeed want to negotiate with you, Ryneth, but in person. He wants you to follow me back to the cabin, where he and Phinneas will be waiting to sort this mess out."

Freylen scowled. "There is nothing to discuss; either they will release my people, or they will not."

"It's not as simple as that, I'm afraid. Your people are in the hands of the Venatori, and they're not the easiest folks to work with." He turned back to Ryneth. "I don't know how my brother plans to proceed, but I am reasonably sure you'll be safe. Your Dalish friends are still holding his children, after all."

Ryneth thought for minute, then nodded slowly. "He's right, Freylen. We need to talk to them."

"Then I will go. It's my place, as Keeper."

Sean shook his head. "No, it must be Ryneth. They were insistent."

Freylen hesitated. "Then Atharil will accompany you. To the edge of the forest, at least."


	41. Chapter 41

They reached the border in the early evening, the rays of the setting sun casting a soft orange glow over the lands beyond the woods. Atharil, who'd been strangely silent for most of the journey, came forward and wished Ryneth success, embracing her awkwardly.

"Dareth shiral," he murmured into her ear, out of Sean's hearing. "Return safely to the People, my friend."

 

There were two horses tied outside the cabin; Elrech and Phinneas were already inside. Sean pulled his daughter aside before they entered, placing a hand on each of her shoulders. "You're not Dalish, Ryneth. Remember that."

She blinked. "What are you talking about? I know that." It might hurt to be reminded of the fact, but she certainly wasn't confused by it.

"I just want you to consider who your people truly are, daughter. This may be your last chance to set things right...." He blinked away sudden tears. "Your last chance to make choices that will let you come home to me when all this is over."

Ryneth found her own eyes welling up, and cursed his timing. "I led the Dalish down this path," she told him. "I cannot abandon their cause now."

He nodded. "I understand. But if you become an outlaw amongst your own kind, to whom will you flee? You will never be an elf, child."

"I'll... I'll worry about that when it comes. Right now, I have prisoners to free." She shrugged out of his grasp, avoiding his gaze lest she become weepy again, and threw open the cabin's door before she could lose her nerve.

 

Elrech looked up from the table with a scowl. Phinneas, sitting on the edge of a chair near the fire, leapt to his feet. His eyes narrowed as he took in her green tunic and trousers, the leg wraps that left the ends of her feet bare and dirty. "Maker, Ryneth," he admonished, "you look ridiculous. Why don't you change into something more appropriate before we begin? We'll wait."

She shook her head slowly. "I'm here on behalf of the Dalish. My clothing shouldn't matter, but if it does I'd say it's entirely appropriate already."

Phinneas sighed and took a seat at the table, motioning for her to do the same. "You're even more confused than I imagined, cousin."

Elrech clasped his hands before him, and Ryneth watched his knuckles turn white. "Irreparably so, in my opinion. How are my children, by the way?"

Ryneth sat down cautiously. "They are well, so far. If you're reasonable, they'll remain that way."

Phinneas frowned. "I should tell you that no one outside this room, apart from my mother, knows you are involved in all of this. If you are reasonable, that will also remain true." He leaned forward. "You would be able to return home."

She threw a glance in Sean's direction. He was hovering near the hearth, gazing into the flames. The firelight revealed deep lines of worry etched into his forehead. He must have known that this would be part of the deal, she thought. Again, she found herself forcing back unbidden tears.

"Very well." She coughed. "Our demands are simple; return the elves your Venatori friends captured, and the Dalish will release the children."

Elrech laughed bitterly. "It's that easy, is it?" He leaned back in his chair. "Your heathen pals really don't keep up on events outside their forest, do they?"

Phinneas threw his father a pointed look. "What he means is, the Venatori are only interested in obtaining workers for their mines. They don't care what becomes of Drayton's children, and they aren't about to part with their new slaves to save them. It's beyond our control."

Ryneth was momentarily speechless. "Why even ask me here, then?" she managed finally. 

Her uncle and cousin exchanged a look.

"There is...something we can offer you," Phinneas said. "Come out to the barn with us."

 

Ryneth threw a furtive look at Sean as the four of them approached the outbuilding, and he returned it with a shrug that suggested he was equally confused. She hoped they weren't being led into a trap. 

Phinneas pulled one of the wide doors open, grunting with the effort. It creaked loudly, and Molly whickered a soft greeting from her stall in the rear. Nearer to the front, filling up almost all the leftover space, sat a simple wagon. An object was upon it; a perfect square covered by a dark cloth. Phinneas grabbed a corner and yanked it unceremoniously to the ground, setting dust motes aflight.

At first, Ryneth saw nothing in the cage but a pile of rags. Then the pile shifted, groaned, sat upright. Met her gaze.

Her hand flew to her mouth before she could stop it. Feyndir was gagged, but he tried to speak at the sight of her, his words lost against the dirty strip of cloth in his mouth. A purple bruise swelled his right eye shut, and his hands were bound behind him, attached via a heavy chain to the iron collar around his neck. His legs were free, but there wasn't enough room to stand, anyway. He knelt before her, his one good eye trying to communicate what his tongue could not.

Phinneas allowed her to stare in horrified silence for a moment before speaking. "He has some healing magic, doesn't he? Because I beat the living shit out of him this morning, and somehow he's back up again." He chuckled.

Sean had gone so red in the face that Ryneth worried for his heart. "This is monstrous," he said quietly. "Release him at once."

"I'll be happy to, brother," Elrech replied, his voice silken, "in exchange for Kendrick and Saraline, of course."

Ryneth forced herself to turn away from Feyndir's battered face and look at her uncle. "If the Venatori have the captives, then how is this one in your possession?"

"I bought him," Phinneas said lightly. "The magister wasn't pleased with the idea at first, but my offer was generous. As is my offer to you."

Ryneth's mind raced, trying to figure out how much they knew about her and Feyndir. "One elf in return for two humans? Isn't that a bit light?"

Phinneas laughed again. "Come, come, dear cousin. Don't be shy; we all know this isn't any old knife-ear." He pointed toward the cage. "He told me himself that he's had you. Of course, elves are notoriously dishonest. Was he lying?"

Feyndir's eyebrows knit together in anger, and he said something that Ryneth was fairly certain was an Elvish curse.

"What about the other Dalish?" she asked, ignoring the question. "What about the other children?"

"What about them? I'm only interested in my siblings and, admit it, you're only interested in this creature. It's a fair trade."

Ryneth looked at Feyndir again. He was so close, and he was suffering, and it was within her power to free him. All she had to do was retrieve her young cousins, and he would be safe.

She shook her head. "I didn't come here for one elf," she said, her voice low. "I came for all of them."


	42. Chapter 42

"Freylen?"

"Mmh?" She lifted her head off his shoulder.

"What are you going to do about Ryneth?"

She sighed. "Keeper Maeven had some kind of plan. I don't know. Feyndir was often with her just before...what happened."

Atharil caught a lock of her hair in his fingers and twirled it idly. "Keeper Maeven is gone," he reminded her gently. "It's your decision, now."

She considered. "The People owe her a great deal, but perhaps we should wait until Feyndir and Tirsas return. Let them work it out together, when I am First."

He didn't want to point out that one or both of them might not return. "She will have no place among the shems after this. They'll hunt her."

Freylen shifted slightly, searching his sky-blue eyes innocently. "Then what do you suggest, Atharil?"

He tucked her hair behind one long ear, his thumb grazing her cheek. One corner of his mouth turned up playfully. "You know what I'm suggesting. You just want to make me say it."

She bent over him, her lips brushing across his in the faintest imitation of a kiss. "Go on then, you keeper of the lost lore, you walker of the lonely path - tell me what to do with this human girl in our midst."

Atharil shook his head slightly, rolling her onto her back in one easy movement. His eyes glinted as he gazed down at her. "Bring her into the clan, Keeper."

Freylen feigned shock. "A Dalish shem? There's no such thing." She arched her back beneath him, raising her arms over her head as she stretched.

"She's not a shem." He caught her wrists in one hand. "She's just...herself."

"Mmm. Well, I suppose if you insist...." She grinned, hooking one leg over his hip invitingly. "Now that that's decided, is there something else you need from me?"

He buried his face in her neck. "Fenedhis, woman. Enough with your games."

She laughed. "Very well, then. So long as you remember-"

"This doesn't mean anything," he groaned, settling his weight on her. "I know, I know...."


	43. Chapter 43

"You must be joking," Magister Tertius said, steepling his long fingers. It was late, and he'd been about to turn in when the foursome arrived. He pointed at the woman in elven garb. "You. What are you supposed to be, anyway?"

She glared at him. "I'm Ryneth."

He sighed impatiently. "Yes, but why are you dressed like that? Did you lose a bet?" Phinneas chuckled, and the magister's bleary gaze turned in his direction. "Why are you laughing? This location was supposed to be a secret, and now you've brought two new people with you. I should have you all killed and be done with it."

Sean cleared his throat. "There are a lot of upset parents in Drayton, serah."

"And? I've already filled my carts with as many Dalish as I could find; if they can't handle those that remain, that's not my concern."

"It will be, though, when they start talking. That's why you're still here, isn't it? Waiting to see how this will play out before you take to the road."

The magister scowled at Elrech. "You promised a simple operation. We relieve you of some troublesome elves that no one will miss, and the grateful townsfolk keep their lips sealed. It is not working out that way."

Elrech cleared his throat nervously. "It's a long way to Emprise du Lion, and slave wagons do not travel swiftly. If the Inquisition finds out...."

Tertius slammed his fist against the table. "I bloody well know what will happen if the damned Inquisition finds out!" He threw back his hood and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "I could just slaughter all the villagers, I suppose...."

For a brief moment all four of them were struck silent, united in their shock. Phinneas was the first to regain his voice. "There are merchants, tradesmen who visit Drayton regularly. I don't think a town full of corpses would long go unnoticed, either."

"The town has been largely destroyed already," Sean added. "The Inquisition might not respond to a Dalish attack quite as quickly as a Venatori presence, but it's safe to assume they'll be sending someone to check on things before long."

The magister's eyes narrowed. "If I cannot escape with my prisoners, I'll leave their bodies behind for the blasted Inquisition to clean up."

Ryneth shifted her feet. "What is it with you and mindless carnage?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "There is a way everyone can still win here, even you. It's why we came."

Tertius gave her a hard look, then looked at Phinneas again. "I get it now," he said with a thin smile. "This is the girl who helped the Dalish kidnap your brother and sister, isn't it? Your cousin who prefers the company of a certain knife-ear?" He gave a rasping laugh. "You southern country folk are an amusing lot. Disgusting, inexplicable, but amusing. By all means, let's hear your idea, rabbit-lover."

"You will hand the elves over to Elrech, who will compensate you for them. Handsomely." Elrech winced slightly at her words. "Then he'll trade their freedom for that of his children and all the children of Drayton."

The magister shook his head. "The Elder One doesn't need money, he needs workers. I'm not interested in-"

Sean cut in. "You'll have to leave the elves behind, anyway, if you want to stay ahead of the Inquisition forces. We want to pay you to do it peacefully. Let us."

Magister Tertius looked from one of them to another. "You're right," he said finally, sagging slightly in his chair, "as much as I hate it. Better to cut our losses and leave with something to show for our efforts." He scowled and waved a manicured hand at them. "Shall we talk numbers, then? I assume you do not value your children's lives cheaply."

 

They were not far outside the magister's camp when Elrech whirled on Ryneth. "Just so you know," he told her, "this arrangement does not include my silence about your role in the Dalish attack."

"Elrech..." Sean began, but Ryneth stopped him. 

"I understand," she said, her voice even, her face expressionless.

"Your likeness will be on wanted posters and Chantry boards from here to the Hissing Wastes," he promised, his horse's reins tight in his fists. "You're no niece of mine - not anymore. You've cost me my entire fortune."

Phinneas looked at her and shook his head. "Such a waste, my dear Ryneth. I will miss you, despite everything."

She returned his pitying gaze with an icy one. "If you touch one hair on Feyndir's head between now and tomorrow, I'll slit Kendrick's throat and make Saraline watch."

Phinneas gaped at her. "Well, that's...crude."

The rest of the company fell into an uneasy silence at her words, and at the crossroads Elrech and Phinneas split from them with only a nod to acknowledge their parting. Sean sighed heavily when they were gone, turning in Molly's saddle to look at his daughter.

"Was that last bit really necessary?"

"Yes. And they believe I'd do it, too."

"I don't blame them. I half-believe it myself." He coughed. "Will you...will you stay at the cabin tonight? It might be the last time it's safe for you there."

Ryneth hesitated. "I wish I could, but I need to return to the Dalish. They must hear what's happened." She thought for a minute. "Father, where's Hendry? He wasn't at the cabin earlier."

Sean shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. "No," he said. "He left shortly after Elrech's party, truth be told."

She furrowed her brow. "He left? Where is he?"

He looked toward the Frostbacks, no more than a dark smudge on the horizon. "Halfway to Skyhold, or thereabouts."

Ryneth didn't know whether to laugh, or be angry he hadn't told her sooner. "He went to tell the Inquisitor about the Venatori? Our Hendry?"

Sean smiled. "I wasn't lying when I told the magister the Inquisition would be here soon. Assuming Hendry can convince anyone up there to listen to him, that is."


	44. Chapter 44

It was the dead of night by the time Ryneth drew near the encampment, staggering with exhaustion. The events of the last few days were catching up with her, and she looked forward to giving Freylen the good news and lying down on the first thing she saw - blanket, pelt, pile of grasses; it didn't matter. 

She heard a branch shudder behind her, but kept walking. "I'm on your side," she called out wearily. "I have news for your Keeper."

"Ryneth?" It was Atharil, looking unusually bright-eyed for someone doing guard duty in the wee hours.

"Doesn't anyone else ever watch the camp?" she asked him. "It's always you."

"I'm not actually on duty," he admitted. "I just wanted to be here when you returned. How did the negotiations go?"

She hesitated, not certain it was appropriate to tell him before she'd informed Freylen. Finally, she decided she was too tired to care. "They went well. Elrech is going to pay the Venatori for his captives, and we'll exchange hostages at midday. Also...I saw Feyndir."

Atharil stopped walking. "Is he alright?"

Ryneth shook her head, a painful lump growing in her throat. "Phinneas got him to admit that we're together. He's been...he's been punishing Feyndir because of me." She dropped her head into her hands, her shoulders heaving with silent tears. 

"Shhhh, lethallan." Atharil put his arms around her and rubbed her back, his chin resting on the top of her head. "This is not your fault. Feyndir would not want you to weep over him, sister."

Even through the fog of her pain and sleepiness, Ryneth heard the words. Such speech might fall casually, thoughtlessly from another elf, especially one comforting a friend, but not from Atharil. She stilled in his embrace.

"What are you...why are you saying those things?"

He pulled back, looked into her puffy eyes. "Because those are the words I use when I speak to another of my clan. A fellow Dalish."

Ryneth was filled with a strange feeling then, a sensation of having received something she hadn't known she'd wanted, a gift for which she hadn't dared to hope. Now that it was hers, though, it was everything. She put a hand over her mouth to keep from shrieking in happiness.

Atharil looked amused. "I wish our city brethren were that excited to join our ranks. The great houses of Ferelden would be emptied of their servants overnight." 

She threw her arms around his neck. "Ma serannas, Atharil!"

He patted her shoulder. "Ma nuvenin, of course. But do me one favor - act this surprised again when Freylen tells you about it."

Ryneth wiped at her eyes, tears of sorrow and joy mixing together on her cheeks. "And you act like I didn't already brief you on the negotiations."

"Done." He walked on, motioning for her to follow. "Come, let's not keep our Keeper waiting


	45. Chapter 45

Clan Virathel arrived mid-morning, their aravels and arms full of sleepy, smiling shemlen children.

"I'm glad they're going home today," their Keeper told Freylen. "Your meadows to the north have been picked bare of elfroot, and I would rather not be present when its effects wear off."

Freylen grinned. "What about the Brighton children?"

He gestured to one of the aravels. "In there. They were sleeping the last time I checked."

She nodded. "I'll tell Ryneth where to find them."

"I hope she will be going home soon, too."

Freylen met his disapproving gaze. "She is home already, hahren, but your concern is noted." She turned and walked away, leaving him flustered and groping for words behind her.

 

The long journey through the woods had become so familiar that Ryneth could identify individual trees and rocks along the way. The white hart picked its path leisurely, walking alongside those warriors from both clans who were accompanying their tiny hostages to the forest's edge. Many of the children wore only the long white nightshirts they'd had on when they were taken from their parents, and in the dappled sunlight they glowed like wisps, their chubby hands grasping tightly the long, slender fingers of the Dalish. It was a peaceful, if slightly surreal scene. 

"This has been a very long game," Kendrick sighed. He was in front of Ryneth on the hart, and he kept wiping at his eyes as the effects of the elfroot began to wear off. 

"You're stupid," Saraline hissed from the back. "It was a game at first, but then it was real...only now Cousin Ryneth's here again, so we're going home." She sounded unsure, as if she were testing the idea by saying it aloud.

"You're partly right," Ryneth told her.

Saraline thought about that for a moment. "Which part?"

"I'm here, and you're going home."

"I'm glad," said Kendrick. "Elf food is gross."

Ryneth chuckled. "Some of it, yes. You'll have to eat an extra cake for me when this is over."

"You can come with us and have one yourself," the little boy offered. "Father won't mind."

She ruffled his hair fondly. "I think he might, actually. But thank you, Kendrick."

There was a small rustle overhead, and Ryneth looked up to see Atharil walking along the branches above, hopping nimbly from one tree to the next. He waved down at her.

"Could you teach me to do that, lethallin?" She called to him. It still felt strange to use the word. Good, but strange.

He laughed. "Possibly. I think I'd best leave it to Feyndir, though. It generally involves a lot of falling and being caught at first - romantic stuff."

"Cousin Ryneth," Saraline said, listening to their easy banter, "you weren't kidnapped, were you?"

"No, I wasn't."

The girl was silent for a moment. "Who's Feyndir?" she asked finally.

Ryneth turned in the saddle to look at her. "He's my vhenan - my heart. Your father and brother are holding him prisoner, along with many other Dalish."

"Oh. Well, I hope you get him back." Saraline squeezed her waist, and Ryneth patted the girl's small hands. 

"I hope so, too."

 

They slowed as they approached the border, then stopped. Both keepers sent scouts ahead, and the wait for them to return seemed interminable. Ryneth scanned the faces of the Dalish, and saw in them the same mixture of excitement and aprehension that she felt herself. They were hopeful they'd soon be reunited with their loved ones, but wary of a trap, a deception. Ryneth felt her stomach twist nervously at the possibility.

At last the scouts reappeared and whispered to the keepers, who bent low to catch their words. When they were finished, Freylen turned and raised her staff for attention. "The Brightons await us," she announced. "They have brought our people with them."

A murmur of relief swept through the Dalish as they moved forward again. This time, they didn't stop until they reached the very edge of their territory, and both clans stood staring down the gentle slope toward the humble cabin Ryneth had recently called home. They were so close, she could see some of the arrow marks she'd left in the trunks of the trees in the sideyard.

She could also see her father, pacing nervously in front of the captive Dalish,  
his eyes sweeping the forest over and over. He's looking for me, she thought with a pang of guilt. She hated that she caused him so much worry.

The people of Drayton were assembled at the back, clutching their chests and craning their necks, waiting and hoping for a glimpse of their children. They got their wish as the Dalish crowded the youngsters quietly forward, bringing them into the light so everyone could see they were unharmed. Sean spoke a word to Phinneas at the sight of them, and they both began moving amongst the elven hostages, opening irons and removing cuffs. Some of the Dalish prisoners looked as if they were contemplating immediate revenge, but no one raised a hand. When all of them stood free, their chains littering the ground at their feet, the delicate exchange of hostages began.

The children started down the slope first. They walked unsteadily, blinking in the bright sunlight, still confused by the lingering effects of the elfroot. The smallest of them had to be carried forward by elves on halla, the animals darting with such swiftness that the villagers recoiled en masse as toddlers were dropped gently but unceremoniously on the ground before Elrech's steed.

The Dalish prisoners, for their part, were slowed by the numerous injured among them. Many of them required a shoulder to lean upon, and none of their clansmen were willing to walk faster than the slowest of them could manage. Ryneth didn't bother to search for Feyndir amongst the group. Just as the Brighton children remained with her, she knew he would be held until the last. 

 

The two groups met one another more or less mid-field, the Dalish captives regarding the young shemlen passing through their ranks with quiet astonishment. It was apparent that no one had told the elves what transpired to win their release; they kept looking at one another and then back at the children, checking that they were all seeing the same thing. One of them reached out and touched a little girl's shoulder as she passed, as if to test whether she was real.

Finally, both sides reached their own people. There were cries of joy and relief from the citizens of Drayton, but the Dalish just inside the forest remained quiet. As did Elrech. 

Ryneth dismounted, then helped Saraline and Kendrick off the hart's wide back. She took each of them by the hand and led them forward, past the trees and out into the sunlight. There she stopped, waiting. She saw Phinneas speak to her father, and then Sean disappeared into the cabin. He came out with Feyndir.

Even from a distance, Ryneth could see that the elf's condition was improved. The gag was gone, but the corners of his mouth were raw where it had bit into him. The eye that had been swollen shut was now open, though it remained ringed in purple bruises. 

Sean accepted a key from Phinneas, and the heavy collar around Feyndir's neck dropped to the ground. The wrist irons followed a moment later. Her father clapped him on the back sympathetically, and Feyndir returned the gesture by solemnly shaking his hand. The exchange made Phinneas's lip curl.

Ryneth took a deep breath and began walking down the slope. Most of the townspeople had begun to disperse as soon as they were reunited with their children, but a few remained for curiosity's sake. They muttered amongst themselves at the sight of her, disheveled from little sleep and dressed like a Dalish savage. Which, she supposed, she now was. The thought made her smile just a small bit, which lent an air of insanity to her appearance. Good. Let them think she was unhinged, if the idea kept the People safe.

Feyndir started walking, too. He was trying to disguise a limp, but Ryneth knew him well enough to see the pain in his eyes with each step. She wanted to drop her cousins' hands and run to him, but she couldn't risk it. Instead, she forced herself to cross the space between them at a controlled pace, both sides watching them with fear and anticipation.

She felt a year pass until he was before her, smiling in spite of his injuries. She released the children, and they disappeared in the direction of their waiting family. She didn't see them go, because she couldn't tear her gaze from Feyndir's battered face.

"I'm so proud of you, rabbit," he said, his voice hoarse. There was an ugly, red welt where the collar had rubbed against his neck. "You saved my people. Ma serannas, vhenan."

"I saved _our_ people," she told him, watching as hopeful confusion flickered across his face, "but we can discuss that later. Right now, we need to get out of this field before someone forgets to play nice and attacks us."


	46. Chapter 46

Tirsas wanted to leave immediately, but it was impossible. Too many of the returned elves were injured, and many had magical wounds that responded poorly to healing spells. Clan Lutharra had to wait, but they did not have to be idle. The new Keeper had every able body patching tents, repairing weapons and armor, and gathering provisions for the coming journey.

Ryneth saw little of it. Feyndir had been ordered to rest, and she spent the following days nursing him back to health in the snug belly of one of the clan's few remaining aravels. He slept, mostly, but whenever he awakened they would speak of what had happened since the Venatori attack. Gently, she told him of Keeper Maeven's passing, of the Magister's words at the ball, of the burning of Drayton and the kidnapping of its children. On the fourth day, when he was finally well enough to venture out into the woods with her, she told him of Freylen's pronouncement.

"I'm Dalish now, Feyndir," she said, placing a hand on his chest. "As much as I ever can be, at least. I can finally call you one of my people."

He chuckled, covering her hand with his own. "So you are, lethallan. But this is not what Keeper Maeven meant when she said she'd know if I was your people."

Ryneth was confused. "What did she mean, then?"

He gave her a long, studying look. "There's more than one way to join a Dalish clan, vhenan. I don't think Maeven meant to make a proclamation; I think she meant, eventually, to give permission."

It sounded like the same thing. "Permission for me to-" 

He shook his head. "Permission for me, rabbit. To ask you a question." He put a finger under her chin, softly tilting her head up until she met his solemn gaze. "One I'm ready to ask now, if you're prepared to hear it."

She nodded, understanding at last, and her heart skipped a beat as Feyndir lowered himself onto one knee before her.

"Is this the way humans do it?" he said, taking one of her shaking hands in both of his. She nodded again, speechless. "Good." He cleared his throat, suddenly looking as nervous as she felt. "Ma vhenan... my rabbit... my Ryneth. The day we met, you tried to shoot me and I threatened your life, but I have been yours ever since. Our life together will likely be no easier than our courtship, my love, but I cannot abide the thought of any life without you. Will you be my wife?"

Ryneth fell into his arms, nearly knocking him backwards in her enthusiasm. "Yes, Feyndir. Oh Creators, yes!"

"Creators? Rabbit, you don't need to - "

"I want to. I want everything that's part of you to be part of me." She kissed him ferociously, and he lay her down in the long grass, his fingers already at her lacings.

"One last question," he said, his breath quick on her neck. "Is there something going on between Atharil and Freylen?"

She grabbed at his tunic. "I'll tell you later."


	47. Epilogue

The two men on horseback paused at the crest of a small hill. 

"This would appear to be the forest the boy mentioned, Commander."

The blond man shook his head. "This trip has been a colossal waste of time. The Venatori are long gone, and we didn't come here to fight the Dalish - contrary to what the people in that burned village seem to think."

His companion shrugged. "At least the soldiers have something to do. And the townsfolk can certainly use their help."

"I suppose you're right. Rebuilding houses isn't glamorous, but it's important work. Still, I wish I could understand what began all this trouble." He shifted in his saddle, weary from the day's long ride. "Venatori captured Dalish elves, for some reason the elves retaliated by burning a town and kidnapping its children, and yesterday the son of the town's lumber baron was found stabbed to death in his own bed. So much violence for such a small community."

"The children were returned, though, and the captured elves were also released."

"Yes, well, I suppose there's that. And the elves seem to have moved on... hold a minute." He pointed toward a grassy slope just at the forest's edge. "Those are Dalish, and there are humans among them." He drew his sword and urged his horse forward, preparing to charge.

"May I suggest a second look, Commander?" The bald elf caught up with him. "Or do you intend to hack your way through a wedding party?"

"A wedding...Maker's breath!" He pulled up abruptly.

"It's likely we have found a cause for the local unrest. It appears the bride is human, and the groom-"

"-is a Dalish. The other human is an older man; probably her father." He sheathed his sword. "Well, there's something you don't see every day."

"She's wearing a borrowed barrette. Saerana is glad to help." There was a soft shimmer of light as the pale boy appeared between the horses, his face hidden by the shade of his hat's wide brim.

"Cole, could you not...that's quite disconcerting."

"Sorry, Commander." His voice changed slightly. "They'll flee, fly afar. Find a fairer forest, forgotten fields. They don't want to fight."

The blond man looked down at him. "I certainly hope so." He hesitated. "You didn't have anything to do with the man who was killed, did you?"

"No. That wasn't me. I made mistakes before, but not now. I want to help people." He twisted his fingers together in discomfort. "The elf was very angry."

"Which elf - never mind, it doesn't matter." He turned his horse's head around. "Let's head back to camp, Solas. The sooner we're finished in this backwater, the better."

Cole remained for a moment, observing the ceremony, a faint smile on his ever-parched lips. Then the wind changed, and with another flicker of light he, too, was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, you (presumably) read the whole thing. Thank you, thank you! I can't tell you how much I appreciate every click, every kudos, every comment. This is my first piece of fanfiction and the longest thing I've ever written, and it's been my absolute joy to share Ryneth's journey with you fine folks.  
> Dareth shiral!!
> 
> P.S. If anyone's interested, I do listen to music while writing. There were about six to eight songs I usually turned to while writing "Rabbit", but the two that I relied on the most were "Helvegen" by Wardruna, and "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac.


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